Il Principe
by LexLuthor13
Summary: Metropolis. The great city that made billionaires out of Lex Luthor & Morgan Edge. It can be generous to you, or destroy youit's only a matter of time. For Allen O'Neill, the time has come. Finished at long last. I think.
1. The City

"Not being always able to follow others exactly, nor attain to the excellence of those he imitates, a prudent man should always follow in the path trodden by great men and imitate those who are most excellent."

-Niccolo Machiavelli

We all want the bigger lawnmower, the hotter wife, the bitchin' new GTO. Plain as that; we want it, and that's all that matters. If we want it enough, if we desire, work and sweat and pain for it, we'll do all we can to have it. However, there exists within every desire the point of no return—the point at which you must "spend money to make money" if you get my meaning. A better way to say it is that if you really want something, there's great labor involved. You've got to give up something to attain something, spend money to make money. There must be substantial sacrifice for any title of power or influence you want: CEO of the company, spiritual guru, it doesn't matter. Something's got to give. And once you have attained your goal, normally you feel empowered because you stuck it out, reached your goal and now you have triumphed. You feel empowered because you worked for it on your own, without somebody handing you anything. You didn't ask for anything in your quest, and so you feel vindicated—you feel…fulfilled because you have succeeded on your own terms. In my experience, I believe I've been handed many things; most of them without my requesting.

My name is Allen O'Neill. I'm 17 years old, ready to graduate, and all that happy crap. For those 17 years, I lived a happy life in the suburbs outside Metropolis. I go to Whitehorse High School—small, out of the way, middle-class by the basest of definitions. And I'd like things to stay that way, despite the fact that my father and mother are both lawyers—that's right. Blood-sucking lawyers.

I love a good argument, and I love digging up dirt on things—stuff that could ruin people—it's my passion. So it may not be surprising to know that during the last three weeks of school, I came dangerously close to getting expelled. In my own mind, I felt no closer to any of the administration than I did with some vegetable in a hospital bed; I felt no reason to form connections with people who were only temporary players in my life. In that spirit, I decided that if I had no connections to them, I might as well make my last days fruitful.

A budding senior "reporter" for the school paper has nothing better to do on an idle Wednesday than probe the fiduciary of the Whitehorse-Metropolitan school district. It was then that I found that the Whitehorse coffers were capital-B bulging over with money. The detective in me, combined with an unflagging sense of right and wrong, planted seeds of doubt almost immediately as to how they got their funding. No school district—private, public, inner-city or charter—from here to Blüdhaven and Gotham (a menial 50 miles away) gets their money through the private sector. Every financial aid going to any kind of school in the tri-city area had to apply to the state for aid. Or even—God forbid—the national government.

So I gave it a few weeks, delved deeper into the matter…and found nothing of great consequence. No illicit money scandals, no secret prostitution rings running out of the girl's locker room—nothing at all. My school had its own ways of funding itself; I found out a month before graduation. How they did it, without state-aid, was quite beyond me.

So much for trying to work in a final scandal before graduating. Looking back, I suppose I did have a knack for wanting to cause a scene, or at the very most, public outcry. Whitehorse, despite the riches, was unassailably dull. Thank God I was getting out when I did. The administration didn't like the fact that I was snooping where I probably should not have been, but a simple majority of the teachers found it quite…amusing that the Valedictorian would do something that could potentially screw him over in the matter of a few days.

So much for trying to dig up dirt on…well, anything.

So, after finding nothing in the way of slanderous material or blackmail against my "beloved" Whitehorse, I spent the weekend waiting for the final weeks of school—and a week later, graduation.

I wasn't excited beyond recognition that I was graduating; it was just another hoop that society required me to jump through. In early celebration of my accomplishments, my parents (bless their twisted little Brady Bunch souls) paid for—out of their own pockets, a trip to Metropolis for me. For a whole week. At first, I smirked at the idea. Metropolis, to middle-class folk like my family and I, was a skip over the Roger Stern Bypass (named after a former mayor-turned-governor from Metropolis). Going to Metropolis itself—a mere 10 miles, after the interchanges and roadside dregs—was more of a field trip than anything else for me. It was no road-trip, no life-changing event. But some part of my conscious wanted to know: why would my parents send me away to the big city for a whole week? Besides the obvious cost effects of shacking up in any of a number of sinfully-expensive hotels, there was college—a pricey investment at best. It took me about three seconds to figure out why they had sent me away, at cost from their own pocketbooks.

They wanted their space. Dad had recently bought a restored gull-wing '61 Mercedes; a sign of his rapidly progressing mid-life crisis. All in all, I surmised Mom and Dad wanted some damned romantic week to themselves.

In any case, the prospect of getting out of an increasingly monotonous cul-de-sac existence for a whole week, even if it was to shack up in a pricey hotel, was too good to pass up.

It didn't take me very long to pack up and head out. My parents filled me with emotional sap before I left, which I took with massive grains of salt.

"Now, you will be careful on the bypass won't you, Allen?" My mother was a chronic worrier.

"Yes, mom. I'll use my flashers and everything," I said impatiently.

"And you'll call when you get there?"

"Yes, Mom. My cellular's all charged up."

My father stepped in. He said quite sternly, "Peggy, let the boy go. He's got places to go, things to see. As do we."

I slung my duffle-bag over my shoulder and cocked my eye. My father continued, slipping his arm around my mother's midsection.

"Now, uh, be careful. Watch the traffic, it's a bear. And Allen?"

"Yeah?"

"Have fun," he said. Then, my father turned around with my mother in tow, waved curtly and shut the door.

I stood there and stared at the door for just a moment, the thought of my parents "doing their thing" quickly left my mind. In between the thoughts of my parents having some hedonistic, sex-filled week without me, I repeatedly told myself in sarcastic mannerisms on the way into town that it was a nice time to be alive.

It took all of twenty minutes to get out of the 'burbs, onto the main roads, and drive across the Roger Stern Bypass. Within ten minutes of entering the city limits, the skyscrapers began to crowd around me like lions over a fallen gazelle. They were waiting to eat me up—waiting to digest the new kid so he doesn't have a chance.

In my stupor, I almost missed the street that my hotel was on. Slamming on the brakes, I was brazen enough to back up in the middle of mid-day traffic to where the street was—Sullivan Street. No cars were coming in either lane, so I found it almost too easy to bypass the law in the Big Apricot. Strange, though, I found, that no cars were on a busy street. On a spring day. At lunch hour.

The hotel my parents had set me up in was…amicable. It was no dingy Econo-Lodge, but rather, a glass-front high-rise. I looked at the bronze logo suspended over the revolving doors to the lobby, and saw two capital-letter L's glinting in the noon sun. I frowned and pushed open the heavy glass door.

The concierge was excited to see a customer; she acted as if she had not seen one in a millennia. Politely welcoming me to what she called the Metropolis Plaza Hotel, she handed me my room key. I pulled the plastic card out of its manila slip-envelope and regarded the number on it: 1940. Perplexed, I looked back at the concierge and decided to make light of my own stupidity. Best to open with a joke.

"Excuse me, Miss."

"Yes?" Her chipper, New York-accented voice was eerily unsettling to me. So was that God-awful fake smile.

"You'll have to excuse poor suburban folk like me; I don't get to come in town much. What does this number mean?"

Brightly, loudly, she replied "that means you're in the nineteenth room on the fortieth floor. We put the room number before the floor, as opposed to most other hotels."

"Oh," I said, as curious about the numbering system as I was surely convinced that she thought I was some brand of super-moron. "Thank you."

She nodded as I picked up my duffle-bag and suitcase and walked towards the gilded elevators. I pressed the button and waited for the doors to open. It was only when they opened that I noticed, etched into the gold veneer, was the same double-L logo as on the outside of the building. I sighed, and waited for the elevator to take me to my room.

Once there, I slid my key into the mechanism, pushed open the heavy ivory door, and looked in at my hotel room. Mine for the week. I smiled at my parents' ingenuity, threw down my bags, ran and jumped on the plush bed. Covering the bed was a deep purple-hued coverlet. Softer than anything I'd ever felt before. The walls were bathed in a deep green hue. The dichotomy between the purple and green was…amusing.

Simple suburban folk like me.

Realizing that I had nothing but time on my hands, I unpacked my bags hastily, and decided to jump in the shower.

After a brief shower, I stepped out, slung a towel around my waist, walked out of the bathroom, and opened the blinds to let in some afternoon light. But the light was obscured. As I pulled on a white Oxford and cargo shorts, I kept looking out the window at the large tower in the distance. It was like a giant black monolith sticking notably out of the puzzle work of urban Metropolis. It was, by all accounts, blocking the setting sun; almost purposefully, I inferred.

I remember it quite well, the LexCorp Tower. My mind flashed back to high school.

From my biology class, we could see Metropolis quite well; the top of the Galaxy Communications building and the LexTower, which rose prominently above the city like a monumental middle finger saluting the entire eastern seaboard.

When my father and I went to Gotham City five years ago for a Knights game, he had taken me downtown to see "the big buildings" as he called them. I remember how awestruck I was to behold the Wayne Tower—the hallmark of the Financial District. We were both immediately struck with how the Gothic structures reached invariably into the sky like gulls escaping a voracious crocodile. The parapets on the buildings reached into the usually-dark sky like stone fingers desirous to escape the drudgery of this world. My trip to Gotham really fueled my interest in architecture. Now, I saw the LexTower stand higher, brighter, and more prominently than the Galaxy building, even the Wayne Tower.

In my intrepid way, I managed to find the number for the Board of Tourism, called them up, and asked if the LexTower had an observation deck—like the Sears Tower or the Chrysler Building. The man on the other end said the Tower did, in fact, have an observation deck. On the 100th floor.

I sighed into the receiver and hung up the phone. I realized parking at the LexTower was going to be extremely difficult, given the hour, so I decided to walk the twenty blocks down to the LexTower; its deco, noir-esque, bronze façade rising above the entire city of Metropolis.

I needed the exercise. No two ways about that. I slipped on my leather sandals and left the room, twirling my car keys around my index finger. Did I need them? No, but call me paranoid.


	2. The Man

Metropolis, LexCorp, the Daily Planet and all other related places, people, etc., are property of DC Comics. Conversely, **I** made Allen O'Neill.

I arrived at the LexTower shortly before 1 p.m. For a moment after arriving, I stood motionless, just looking up at the gigantic ebony monolith rising into the heavens like some sort of capitalistic Tower of Babel. The sun was beginning to descend into its afternoon position, giving me a better view of the towering apex of the building. I squinted, rubbed my eyes, and walked towards the row of revolving doors.

The massive amounts of employees returning from their lunch hours impressed me. The dumb suburban kid was left in the dust of employees; none of them willing to disappoint their inscrutable employer. Getting through security wasn't difficult; I had nothing to hide. I was...unsettled, nonetheless at the fact that the LexTower had better security measures than some government offices; the Capitol and Pentagon included.

After traversing the nigh-impenetrable throngs of security personnel, each armed with a metal-detecting wand, a 9mm Glock sidearm, and no apparent sense of personal space, I headed for the elevators, located on the east side of the building. Etched into the bronze elevator doors, were reflecting double-L's. My head dropped slightly, and I realized my own stupidity.

Double L's. Lex Luthor. _He certainly did like having his name everywhere, didn't he?_

I hit the button marked "OD" for observation deck (I presumed), and felt the elevator lurch upwards. It wasn't until I had almost reached the 100th floor that I realized I was all alone in this elevator; the LexTower wasn't the tourist spot it had been made out to be. I sighed as the elevator grinded to a halt. The doors slid open slowly as I looked out at the barren 100th floor. Glass windows wrapped around the entire space from ceiling to floor—creating literal walls of glass. A bronze railing ran four feet above the green-carpeted floor. The lighting was dim, but not from neglect. It was intended to be that way—as if the architect knew no one would come up here, so he made it as low maintenance as he could. But the design was not what stumped me.

There wasn't a soul there. Empty. Blank. Nada.

"You're a tourist attraction, Mr. Luthor," I muttered to myself. I walked to the nearest window, put my hands on the railing, focused my weight on them and looked out—to the north. I could see the nearby helipad atop the Galaxy Communications building, and further away, the bronze globe of the Daily Planet. I sighed and threw my head against the window, producing a dull thud. I heard a rumble somewhere off to my left, looked, and saw dark clouds rolling in off the Atlantic. I cleared my throat, lifted my head off the window and went to the other side.

"Some vacation this is. I've only been here three hours and I'm miserable," I muttered to myself.

"You should try Lombardi's on Gordon Avenue. I hear their New York strip is delectable," a voice behind me proclaimed. Caught with my proverbial pants down and slightly frightened, I shot around and saw the source of the deep, resonant voice.

Lex Luthor.

Immediately, I began analyzing him. It wasn't the baldness that caught my eye, though that was inescapable. What caught my eye before anything else was his style. He wore dark, primary colors; a dark black suit with matching trousers. His shoes were shined to almost-solar brilliance. Beneath the broad shoulders, concealed under the elegantly tailored black suit, he wore an equally flawless maroon Oxford with a tie the same ebony hue of his jacket and slacks. He stood…casually. One hand he held in his pocket. I could see the material displacing slightly every few seconds, as if he were playing with his car-keys or something. His left hand hung loosely at his side.

The broad shoulders gave way to a thick neck which supported his shiny, bald head. Concealed within that marvelous hunk of bones, I guessed, is probably the greatest business genius that ever lived. After all, I had done my research. When you live in the shadow of Metropolis and its "master", you tend to develop a sense of supremacy. A content smile grew across his chiseled face. I looked intently into his burning green eyes.

"Finished?" His voice was…mesmerizing.

Dumbfounded, I shocked myself back to reality. "Y—yes. I, uh…you're…Lex Luthor." It was the first time in my life that I ever openly admitted I was out of my league.

"Yes," he said. I detected a hint of arrogance or concealed humor. I couldn't tell which. "And you're apparently a lost tourist. Can I help you get back to your group?"

"I'm not with a tourist group, Mr. Luthor," I said as I ran my hand over the nearest pane of glass.

"Is that so?" He was either curious or agitated; his tone of voice made it difficult to discern which.

"Uh…look, Mr. Luthor, my name is Allen O'Neill. I'm not with a school group or anything like that." Sometimes the plainest approach was the best. I pocketed my hands and regarded the green-carpeted floor for a moment.

"So why are you here?" he approached me and clasped his hands behind his back. It became obvious to me that he wasn't curious at all. Rather he seemed to be testing me. Seemed.

"I'm in Metropolis for the week," I said plainly. I had nothing to hide from this man. Some part of my conscience suspected he had a few things to hide from me. "Nothing school-related. Call it a business write-off. My…parents decided to treat me to a little early graduation present."

That caught his attention. He raised an eyebrow. I must've sparked something inside him when I said "business write-off", because I saw his eyes narrow thoughtfully, and the corners of his mouth curl into a halfhearted smile.

"Mr. Luthor?" I said, unsure of what to do next. "Are you…alright?" I was actually too afraid to move. He removed his hands from his pockets, clapped them together, smiled widely and said, "You're not too busy are you, Allen?"

"No, sir."

"Then you wouldn't mind getting some lunch?"

I hesitated for a moment, considering the prospect of a free lunch from the Richest Man in the Western World.

"Sure."

Lunch wasn't exactly what I expected. Instead of going to, like he had implied, Lombardi's on Gordon, Mr. Luthor led me up to his office 20 floors up from the observation deck. As I figured, by seeing fire-escape maps of the building in the hallway, the LexTower was 120 stories tall. Mr. Luthor's office was on the top floor.

Decorated in the same purple and green hues as my hotel room, the office was…expansive, so expansive. It seemed like it took up the entire top floor. Luthor walked in first, I followed. He held the glass doors open for me, but I just stopped. And stared. I saw Luthor walk to his desk, sit down, pick up his phone and speak into it.

"Mercy. Lunch for two," he said curtly. He hung the receiver back on the hook and spoke to me. "I hope you like steak."

I was simply blown away. You think you know a place, and then you actually go there in person and you go to the top floor and you're able to see your house—or the river separating its subdivision from the rest of the civilized world.

As Luthor's aide--an imposing yet attractive woman he called Mercy--wheeled in a cart with two silver platters on it, I turned in my chair to see her. Her chiseled good looks didn't catch my eye as much as her legs did. Beginning at petite-sized feet and reaching up into the darkness of her white skirt, I shook my head roughly and brought myself out of the funk. With a (frankly-speaking) mannish build such as hers, I didn't want to press my luck. She looked like she could kick my ass from this tower to Hub City and back before I could give her a what-for.

"You know, Allen, it's a marvelous thing," Luthor said as he sliced into his steak. "They say the trouble with first impressions is that you only get to make one. In your case, I am very impressed with yours. 'Business write-off' That's wonderful, you know. You must have fascinatingly bright teachers."

"Oh, they're…pretty special," I said, as Mercy took the platter off the cart and set it on the sprawling oak desk before me. She removed the silver orb covering the platter and lunch beneath, revealing a meal that looked more like dinner than lunch. A 12 ounce New York strip steak, top cut and colored a deep shade of maroon—rare—_nice_, I thought. Drizzled over the steak was a deep purplish raspberry...gravy if it could be called that. No, dressing was much more appropriate, but then again, who knows what terminology lies in the hearts of billionaires and their Amazonian lapdogs. Next to the steak were baby carrots and smashed potatoes.

Mercy shot me a fleeting glower, then turned away. Surely, in only a day of my time here, I wasn't this good at making enemies.

"I gather it looks appetizing, Allen?"

"Oh yes," I said, furtively prodding the steak with my fork. "What are you…dining on?"

"Oh, nothing too extravagant," he said graciously. Luthor's lunch was different from mine. His main course was a top cut sirloin of Waygu beef encased in cracked black pepper, and served beside a myriad of mixed vegetables, grilled polenta, and a side of strawberry cheesecake, which Mercy provided him separate from the rest of the meal. He continued sipping on his Port while Mercy provided copies of the Daily Planet, the Gotham Gazette, the National Review, and the Financial Times.

"So," I said, finishing off the smashed potatoes. "Do you, uh, travel the building much during the day?" It was an innocent question; no harm, no foul.

As he polished off the last of the Port, he said "Oh yes. In my duties as CEO of this company, I travel the tourist groups with some regularity. I like to see what potential may be living in the Big Apricot. And, uh, don't worry about the heat damaging the finish on the desk. I'll have housekeeping fix it later."

I lifted up my plate and looked at the polished veneer. There was no damage, but I still felt obligated to toss a napkin under there or something to protect the pricey desk from the heat. It made me think. If Luthor could easily buy an expensive oak desk with no never mind, what else could he do through this monumental company of his? I perished the thought, but couldn't help wondering. Was this man who I'd just met capable of some of the things you hear on the evening news; stuff about namby-pamby white-collar crimes? Still…you never know what you're capable of until you actually do it. I decided to follow-up with another question.

"You know, it's remarkable, Mr. Luthor. They say you can buy and sell people like things. The papers, that is." My voice was purposely quiet, as if I was prodding into undesirable territory. I still bought into the 'no harm, no foul' idea. At the same time, I expected him to throw me out of his building for venturing into unbidden conversation matter.

"I wouldn't take what the papers say to heart, Allen. People are things," he said in a convincing tone of voice. "As readily interchangeable as anything else." His response was…not expected. Here I was trying to push his buttons, and he gave me a straight answer. So much for pressing my luck.

"Fair enough. But--if you don't mind my asking--why would you want to see 'potential', knowing full well that you'd have to wait a generation before it could be tapped? Wouldn't it be easier to just...go into Suicide Slum and pick up some hobo lying in the gutter?"

Luthor set down his goblet and stared at me through cold, analytical eyes. A cold chill washed over me.

"It would be more than cost-effective, if you don't mind me saying so. But I have history in Suicide Slum; none of it pleasant. I'd like to stay away from that place."

"I can respect that," I said. My father taught me very early on that if you had doubts about something, it's best to confront them, clear them up, and get them out of the way before something goes sour. I had the distinct feeling that, because of my little dissertation there, Luthor was going to kick me out of his office…and out of his town.

"So," he said, exhaling. "What brings you to Metropolis? A day off from the drudgery of school? Home troubles?"

Despite my having told him the reasons behind my visit to Metropolis, I decided to elaborate. God is in the details, after all. "A little of both. You see, Mr. Luthor—"

"Lex."

"Lex," I said apprehensively. "You see, my parents paid for this trip out of their own pockets. Some kind of early graduation present."

"You're graduating?" He sounded genuinely interested; stopped eating his steak to listen to me.

"Yeah. Valedictorian, high honors, class speaker…all the good work."

"Including the adoration of your peers," he said with a curious smile.

"Yeah," I said. I leaned back in my chair, rested my hand against my chin and extended my index finger up the side of my face, and rested it against my cheekbone. Privately, I wondered why I was in this nice office, with this nice man, with an extravagant lunch laid out, talking about graduation. It boggled my mind to a certain extent.

I frowned, leaned forward in my chair and looked at Luthor skeptically.

"Mr. Luthor, I've only known you for a good twenty minutes and already we're discussing graduation. I'll admit it: I'm more or less, should we say, intimidated by you. But why don't you tell me why you called me up here? It can't be because you knew I was graduating, unless you have people stalking me or something. 6 million people in Metropolis and you seem to have picked me out haphazardly. Sounds odd."

Luthor stood, arched his back, stretching his muscles, and turned to the window behind his desk. The window—actually connected panes of glass at least ten feet by ten feet—stretched across Luthor's office, giving him panoramic view of Metropolis, the rivers, and the 'burbs further up-island, across Hob's River.

"You should be very proud of yourself Allen. So often in life, I think people your age have no motivation; no guiding light that steers them through the river of life. I believe you have that light, and I have every confidence you'll use it to your advantage. "

"Thank you very much, Mr. Luthor. But you still haven't answered my question." I felt I was being overly critical. Did I want to ruin my "chances"—whatever those were—with Lex Luthor? At the time, I didn't feel as if there were any 'chances' with a man like Luthor. In my head, I still couldn't get over it. Lex Luthor was a god, an omnipresent, all-knowing superpower who lives on a cloud and laughs at the rest of the piddly world. He shouldn't exist; he's a divinity to simple suburban folk like me.

And yet…here he was. Living, breathing, smiling, pulling me into his world.

Luthor cracked a smile and turned back to me. "You're a stand-up kind of man, Allen. How long will you be in town?"

"I'm in for the week. Until Saturday, anyway. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Give me a call later in the week. There's an award ceremony I must attend on Friday night and I'd love it if you came along."

"Sounds fun," I said; my interest wandering. The way things were panning out, Lex Luthor was trying to befriend me—the simple suburban kid who he met on a chance encounter. But was there an ulterior motive on his behalf? Only time could tell.

"The luxury box gets lonely sometimes, you know. The evening will be on me; you needn't worry about a thing. Where are you staying?"

"The Metropolis Plaza Hotel. Room 1940." I must have caught his attention for a second time, because he looked up at me with a fixed gaze.

Curiously, he raised an eyebrow and said "1940, you say?"

"Yes. Why?"

"That's my room. The Executive Suite," he said, amused.

With piqued curiosity, I said "Huh…small world isn't it?"

"That's quite remarkable. All I ask is that you don't mess it up. That room is…special to me."

"I can guess," I said. "So what is this thing Friday night?"

"The formal name is the Zenith Award for Excellence in Journalism, but those butchers at WGBS have slanderously labeled it the 'Baldy Award'. Can you guess why?"

"I have a few thoughts," I said as I finished my steak and glanced at his skull. Luthor smiled and motioned towards the door. Mercy, who had been standing like a monolith by the glass double-doors, extended her hand and pulled one open.

"My driver will send for you Friday night at about 7:00. Be ready to go. Black tie."

"Lex, I didn't bring any dress clothes with me," I said hastily.

He paused momentarily, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his black wallet. He said, "This is my credit card. Take it to Schonenfeld's up on Swan Street and buy yourself something nice. A nice suit. Preferably black, but whatever works for you."

"Uh, okay. Thank you much Mr. Luthor." He waved it away and said, "I'll see you Friday at 7:00. Enjoy your week."

With that, I stood, made for the door, and within a minute, was on my way out of the LexTower.

Back in his office, Lex Luthor rotated his chair, steepled his fingers, and stared out the window. He heard footsteps behind him and turned his head slightly to see Mercy Graves stop beside his chair. He didn't bother with formalities; there was no point.

"You have something to say."

"Was it wise to give the boy your credit card?"

"I have every confidence that he won't abuse it. He's far too trusting; perhaps to a fault."

Mercy stared beyond the glass at the Galaxy Communications Building, and sighed.

"You don't have a room at the Plaza," she said, almost accusingly.

"Obviously. But he doesn't know that. Familiarity had to be established, even if it was a stretched truth."

I took Lex's advice and went to Schonenfeld's. The store was Metropolis' answer to Saks Fifth Avenue or Macy's, but I found it intrinsically easy to find what I was looking for. The service associate knew instinctively what I was looking for, and even gave me a discount on a decidedly-attractive combo—a black jacket and slacks with a dark green shirt and tie—because of my association with Luthor. All in all, the combo cost Luthor a smooth 150 big ones. Call me a frugal shopper, but I knew when to spend and when to resist.

Maybe, I thought, going to college in town wouldn't be so bad. If I played my cards right, and kept Luthor as a backer of sorts, having an unofficial little financier would be…good.

So, after purchasing what I needed at Schonenfeld's—plus a sandwich at Ordway's Deli on Broadway—I returned to the Plaza and decided to watch the ol' boob tube. Turning it on to WGBS, I saw an attractive blonde woman, hair down past her shoulders, a wide smile on her face, talking about Superman. The caption said she was Cat Grant, and footage began rolling; showing Superman saving a kitten from a tree, Superman saving some dark-haired lady falling from the top of the Daily Planet, and Superman waving to the camera after saving some hapless old lady.

"Good ol' Superman," I said, as I kicked off my shoes and hung up the garment bag with my suit in it. "Always keeping us safe from the worst enemy of all—ourselves." With that, I flopped back on the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. Then, I heard Cat Grant say something about the Baldy Award. That got my attention, and so I sat up and looked into Grant's seductive cobalt eyes.

"And at the Shuster Opera House, preparations are almost complete for the Baldy ceremony Friday night. Every year, Metropolis' own LexCorp International sponsors the Zenith Award for Excellence in Journalism—a cash award which honors regional journalists for their work. For the past five years, Lois Lane has been the sole recipient and so the ceremony has stayed relatively hush-hush. But this year, Clark Kent, a staff writer at the Daily Planet, is being awarded the $5,000 dollar cash award along with an article in the Daily Planet, the Daily Star, and other regional newspapers. WGBS congratulates Mr. Kent on his achievement."

"Richest Man in the World and he only gives five thousand." I smiled, astounded. "Good for you, Lex." This must have been what Lex was talking about. The award didn't seem like much, but for some reason, my interest was piqued. The Romantic notion that I would be conversing with Metropolis elite while in the shadow of Lex Luthor was…promising.

I spent the rest of the week in one of two places: my hotel room, or roving the town like an idle tourist.

Luthor's driver, Mercy, called for me at the concierge. Rushing out of the elevator, I saw her standing by the revolving doors, talking idly with the concierge—the same one who explained the room number to me. I smiled curtly at the concierge and fell in step behind Mercy, who quickly lost interest in her conversation with the concierge.

As I finished tying my tie, and buttoning my dark black jacket, she led me to a vintage Rolls Royce Silver Ghost. She opened the door and motioned for me to step in. I did, and upon getting comfortable, saw Lex sitting across from me, his elbow rested gently on the arm rest, his left arm supporting his adamantine chin. Demurely, he greeted me.

"How was your week? Did you find everything all right at Schonenfeld's?"

"Yes Lex. The sales people were very nice."

"They should be. They work for me."

As the car lurched forward, I asked Luthor, "Work for you?"

"Yes," he said quickly. "LexCorp is so vast that fully 75 percent of Metropolitans are employed under me in one manner or another. 9 million people live in Metropolis; 4 million of them work for me."

"I had no idea," I remarked, distantly engaged in the conversation. My mind was everywhere at once. Superman, Cat Grant, Mercy, The Shuster, Lex, five thousand dollars, my parents. My…parents. If only they could see their little boy now…

"It's really nothing, if you simplify it. All it takes to get where I am, is a little hard work, dedication, and sometimes…ruthlessness."

"Ruthlessness," I murmured, not much surprised by this admission. Luthor wasn't caught off-guard like I though he might have been; he sidestepped it masterfully and went on.

"The American Dream, as you may well know, is to make it big by no small part of your own ingenuity. For ten years, news people and magazines across the nation have dubbed me that benchmark of human ingenuity."

"Do you believe that," I said, with a hint of derisiveness in my voice. "Do you accept it?"

"I'm not the sort of person to blindly follow other people's order, Allen. But if the people want to equate me with Edison or Roosevelt, then I've got no problem."

"Fair enough," I said. Then I turned away from Luthor and looked out the window at the shining scenery of downtown Metropolis. I felt the Rolls Royce lurch forward to a complete stop. Lex looked out the window, back at me, and smiled.

"We're here."

The door opened, and Lex stepped out before me. He nodded curtly towards Mercy, who maintained a stoic appearance. I glanced at Mercy, and caught motion from my periphery. The cameras had found and flocked to Luthor.

Businessman, economist, humanitarian, but most of all, Lex Luthor was a showman. He stepped out of the Rolls, straightened his jet-black suit, waved to cameras and doting socialites alike, and said something about being the center of attention. He got out of the way of the door and let me inch out of the car; the paparazzi had a way of giving you claustrophobia.

I recognized Cat Grant, the lady who talked about the Baldy Award on WGBS a few days ago, pushing her way through the crowd, eager to get an exclusive with Luthor. She was wearing a bright pink pant-suit, which fit her well, and made her blonde hair look even more brilliant. She stuck her microphone out in mid-air and yelled at Luthor for a statement. Somehow, mixed with the shouts and catcall of the celebrity-wanting press corps, Luthor spotted Grant, grabbed my arm, and led me to her. Instantly, upon seeing Luthor push his way through the horde, Grant smiled widely and questioned Luthor. She pointed to her following cameraman, telling him to start rolling.

"Mister Luthor, Cat Grant with WGBS—"

"I know who you are, Cat. How are the kids?"

"Fine Mr. Luthor," she said quietly—possibly surprised or caught off guard. She then spoke up again: "This is the 10th year you've sponsored a Zenith Award. How does it feel after all these years, knowing that you're making a positive impact on Metropolis?"

"Well, Cat, I'll be the first to admit to you that I believe in America and I believe in the people of America. I like to think this award symbolizes everything great about the human spirit. I can think of no better person to receive it than Clark Kent. Now if you'll excuse me, I must find my seat."

"Mr. Luthor--"

"Yes, Cat," he said, his voice resonating across to her deeply, almost…seductively.

"Who is this young man you've got with you?"

"Oh, this is Allen, my dear. He's my dear nephew. Now, if you'll excuse us."

Author's Note: The description of Lex Luthor's lunch comes from "Batman: No Man's Land, The Novel" and has been marginally edited.


	3. The Award

After the crowds of well-wishers, close friends of Luthor, politicians, and outright sycophants, Luthor led me to the box seats, overlooking the floor seats. Extending his hand toward the front two seats in the box, he motioned for me to sit.

"This is the Shuster Opera House," he said. "It's one of the more **retroesque** buildings in town--designed and built in the 1940's by an enigmatic architect out of New York. I think Roark was his name. A few years ago, however, after disuse and structural problems threatened to close it forever, LexCorp sponsored a city-wide initiative to renovate the building. Enjoy your evening."

Enjoying it was nothing, I thought. The red velvet cushions and the gilded décor were more than enough glamour to make me enjoy the night. After all, it was a free night at a major social gathering with the most powerful man in town, at no cost to me. The only downside was I had to buy an all-new suit, which made me feel uncomfortable in a few ways. I never believed in taking money you couldn't pay back, so when Luthor gave me his credit card and said "buy yourself something nice", I was unsettled to say the least. But if Lex Luthor could spare a few hundred dollars out of his five-hundred-million-dollar-a-year salary, then I felt a little more at ease. I looked out at the crowd of people filtering through the doors, finding their ways to their seats, when Lex patted my shoulder. I turned around to see him.

"What do you think?"

"I'm beyond impressed, Lex. But I'm wondering who some of those people are. They look…familiar."

"Well, that," he said, pointing to a tall, angular man in a tuxedo with short cut brown hair, "Is Morgan Edge. He runs Galaxy Communications. He's…fallen on bad times recently."

I nodded along as Lex pointed to the black-haired woman I had seen on WGBS. He said she was Lois Lane, the woman who had won the past five Baldy's. He paused for a moment and looked at Lois, who wore a dark red dress. He watched her sit down next to a strong-looking man in a tuxedo, with circular glasses hanging loosely off his nose. Luthor scowled and stood straight again.

"Who was that man with her?"

"That…is Clark Kent. He's receiving the award."

"Oh," I said, feigning interest. If Luthor noticed it, he certainly overlooked it.

"I have some things to take care of backstage, but I'll be up in a few minutes. If you need anything, just let Mercy know." He smiled assuredly, and walked out. I watched him go and straightened my tie. I glanced over at Mercy, who sat rigidly in her seat, her eyes rolling about the crowd as if she was analyzing every last member of the audience. I felt a shiver run down my spine.

I checked out of the Metropolis Plaza Saturday morning, having seen the Baldy Award. I thanked Lex for, well, everything. All in all, though, I had gotten my fill of Metropolis—for the time being. I left Lex a voicemail at his office, telling him I was going home and he could reach me there if he wanted. Did I need to do it? No, but it was still a nice gesture. When I got home, I found my mother sunbathing on the front lawn. I got out of my car, slung my duffle over my shoulder, stared perplexedly at my mother—who didn't seem to notice me—and shook my head in dismissal. The thought of my parents "working out" their troubles by a week full of God-knows-what was…something I didn't want to dwell on for too long.

My father met me at the door, clad in his trademark blue bathrobe, a freshly lit Cuban cigar in his mouth.

Perplexed, I questioned him lightly: "Dad?"

"You're back boy. So soon? Was the Big City really that dull?"

"Well, I was gone a full week. Your powers of observation are fading, Dad." After getting a laugh from that, I decided it was probably best to change the subject. "So what have you and Mom been doing while I was gone?"

"Oh, a little of this and a little of that, you know," he said as he swaggered into our spacious kitchen. Located in the northwest corner of the house, the kitchen was the one place of the house that my father had no input when the house was being built; my mother single-handedly designed this room, screeched at the construction men until they got everything the way she wanted it. Mom was always kind of…a perfectionist in that way. It was her way or the highway. After twenty-seven years and two kids, it surprised me that my father and my mother were still married.

"Can I get you anything to eat?"

"Oh no, I'm fine. I, uh…had a big lunch. But, uh…it's three in the afternoon. Why are you still in your pajamas?" He nodded plainly and stubbed out his cigar in the kitchen sink. I saw it, and rolled my eyes. I had only been in Metropolis for two days, and I had seen better manners there than any place I'd been before.

"It's been along week, let's just say."

"Fair enough," I said.

"Your mother and I are going into town to see a play tonight. Some damn thing about cats or…something. I've never heard of it. You?"

I shook my head blankly, even though I knew what he was talking about.

"Well, that's where we're headed," he said. I detected a bit of disgust in his voice, perhaps sadness. As if my mother was dragging him along on another one of her endless "social outings". She always wanted to be the engaging socialite on the block.

"I feel for you, Dad. I really do," I said sympathetically, grabbing a can of soda from the refrigerator.

"Thanks, boy." I looked up to see my father looking through the kitchen, through the large bay window in our living room. "Oh boy."

"What is it?" I sipped my soda.

"It seems your mother's on her way in. I'd better go get ready."

"Yeah," I murmured, as I followed my father upstairs and into his bedroom. My mother walked into the kitchen and interjected before I could slip up the back stairway.

"Oh sweetie, you're home," she said innocently. "How was Metropolis?"

"Good, good. I really enjoyed it," I sugar-coated.

"That's wonderful. Did you meet anyone important or famous?" Her eyes lit up as she followed me up the steps. I suspected she wouldn't actually expect me to answer that. But I did.

"Well, yeah," I said sheepishly. "You know Lex Luthor?" It took less effort than I thought it would. Good to get it off my chest.

"Yes, Allen. I think everyone does," she said.

"Yeah, but I spent most of my time in his office." I felt like showboating, and why not? I felt a euphoric sense of entitlement.

My father, who had been brushing his teeth in the attached bathroom, stuck his head out from behind the door. He frowned heavily, the toothpaste running down his chin. Spitting the toothpaste into the sink, he replied hastily, incredulously: "Did I…hear you right, son?"

"Yes. Lex Luthor. The bald one."

"Oh my," my mother said, her voice full of august wonder. "What's he like? Is he nice? Funny?" She glanced back at my father and whispered, "Attractive?"

"**Peggy!**"

She shrugged and said, "Well?"

"Yes, yes. He's very nice. He fed me a wonderful lunch and took me to an award ceremony at the Shuster Opera House last night."

At this point, my mother's look turned from awe to skepticism. "The Shuster, Allen?"

I nodded along, actually enjoying the attention being given to me.

"Yeah, right, boy," I heard my father deprecatingly yell from the bathroom. I frowned, and stared at my mother. "It does sound a little…farfetched, son."

My eyes grew wide and I turned and stormed out. I simply couldn't believe it.

I spent the night sitting in front of WGBS, watching Cat Grant talk about the annual race around the world between the Flash and Superman. I scowled silently and cursed to myself when the screen shifted to a picture of Superman standing on the roof of the Daily Planet. "Mock heroics," I said as Cat Grant signed off for the evening.

I slouched deep into the recliner and changed the channel to WLEX; they were covering a renovation of the Metropolis General Hospital, funded by none other than Lex Luthor. When they showed Luthor walking on the construction site, I smiled. I heard a door shut somewhere behind me. I estimated it was in the kitchen. I looked into the hallway to my right and saw my father, in a suit and tie, slinging a brown trench coat over his shoulders. I shrugged and went back to the TV. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him looking at me like a scientist over a Petri dish. I inhaled deeply, let it go, and kept watching the pictures of Luthor run across the screen. I heard my father sigh. He buttoned his trench coat and my mother joined him, latching her arm underneath his. Together, they walked out the front door.

I knew he was looking at me, probably second-guessing himself as to my statements about meeting Luthor. He probably knew I was not looking at him, mainly because I was upset that neither of my parents believed me. The TV sat before a large bay window in our living room, through which I saw my parents walking down the steps to the driveway. Through the open window, I could hear my father say, "Maybe it's an obsession, you know. We sent him to the city for a week and now he's eaten up with this Luthor character."

"Lex Luthor is no character, John," my mother said.

"Right, Peg. You're saying he's no stranger than **Trump**?" My father's voice was unnecessarily sarcastic.

"All I'm saying is that if--and that's a big 'if'--Allen really met Luthor, then he should have something to show for it, right? A autograph or lock of hair or something."

"Luhtor's bald, dear. And besides, there's no doubt in my mind that Allen met some important people while he was in town--it's hard not to in that town. But Lex Luthor? The man who can buy and sell our sorry asses five times before we know where we've gone? It's extremely farfetched, Peg."

That's all I heard, for my parents had gotten in their car, backed out of the driveway and quickly sped away. Silently, abruptly, I lifted my arm and gave the finger to the front window, to my parent's accelerating car. Then, I decided I needed a shower.

It wasn't really a shower. I ran a bath, got the water as hot as I could stand, and just sat in the tub, the water turning my skin likely-dangerous hues of red. Looking down at my exposed abdomen, I half-expected the skin to split in two from the heat of the water and my intestines come spilling out. But I didn't care. I was absorbed with loathing for my parents.

I stared at my legs, raised above the waterline--I was too big for this tub--and sighed abjectly. I'd always thought I was a bit of an alarmist, but in this place, I felt completely at rest; as if no one could ruin my mood.

That would give my parents something to believe. Bastards. So much for "Honest Allen". I mean, here was little Allen O'Neill, the class Valedic-fucking-torian, whose never spoken a fibbed word in his life, and his own damn parents didn't believe him.

What was the world coming to?

I felt the water cooling down, so I slid deeper into the tub, the water line at the top of my upper lip. I opened my mouth and blew bubbles and felt them pop against the bottom of my nostrils.

That got me smiling marginally. Then, I heard the phone ringing. I sighed, stood, slung a towel around my waist and went for the phone. When I picked up the phone, I heard a familiar voice on the other end.

"Hi, Allen," it said. He always figured out my name before I could say mine. "It's Tim."

I first met Tim Drake when I went to Gotham five years ago. At the Knights Game, my father and I had snagged really great aisle seats on the third base line. My father sat on the inside, and I on the aisle. I had a thing about stretching my legs if given the space to do it, so during most of the game I had my legs propped against the seatback in front of me. I didn't think anyone was sitting there.

Tim Drake was the kid who sat in front of me. Of course, I didn't figure that out until the 6th inning, when he came traipsing down the aisle, patted me on the shoulder and asked very nicely if I could get my feet off his seat.

Sheepishly, I acquiesced, and for the rest of the game, Tim and I struck up quite the discussion. It turned out he knew a thing or two about baseball, so in retrospect, the friendship started from there on in. I later learned that Tim was the assistant to the billionaire flake Bruce Wayne—in one manner or another. Basically, Tim did all Wayne's running for him. It was a pretty lucrative job, but something about it seemed a little…shady.

When I came back to Metropolis, my parents were stunned that their little boy had made a friend. Tim and I kept in touch, but this was the first I'd heard from him in a good two weeks.

"Hi, Tim. How's it hangin'?" I spoke into the portable phone as I went back to the bathtub. I found myself very cold, so I cradled the phone between my ear and my shoulder, and dipped back into the tub.

"Oh, it's…there. How are you?"

"I'm fine," I said. "A little pissed off at the parentals, but—"

"Well, who isn't?"

"Fair enough, Tim. But they don't seem to believe me lately."

"Well, if I know you like I think I do, it can't be a drug problem." Tim's voice was overly serious in that witty Humphrey Bogart sense. He always had a certain way of putting me at rest.

"No, no, Tim. Nothing like that. See they sent me to Metropolis for a week and…"

"Oh boy, Metropolis. Hot stuff. Meet anyone?" he said, implying some kind of romantic fling.

"Well, yeah, but not in the way you're thinking."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's not easy to say, especially since I know how much you don't like this town."

"I never said that."

"Yeah, well, anyway," I said, feeling it urgent to press on, "his name is Lex. Lex Luthor."

There was a long pause on the other end.

"Tim," I said, curiously. "Tim, you still with me?"

"Luthor, you said?"

"Yes."

"Lex—Lex Luthor?" Tim sounded like he had never heard the name before—or at the very least, surprised to hear it. Simultaneously, I felt I was encountering the same kind of disbelief my parents had displayed.

"Yes, Tim, what's wrong?"

"Uh…nothing. That's great, Allen. Is he nice?"

"Yeah," I said haphazardly. "He's actually very personable. Took me to the Baldy Award thingy last night at the Shuster Opera House."

"Score," said Tim, sarcastically.

"I thought so--"

"Listen, Allen. I've gotta go. But I'll be in town in a few days."

"Bruce coming in on a business trip?" I had met Bruce Wayne only once, at Tim's request, and it was a terse meeting. There was something about the man—something I couldn't really place—that made me, dare I say, a little afraid of him. Curiously, it still bugs me to this day.

"Something like that," Tim said apprehensively. "He's got some business he needs to attend to and he asked me to come along. So I guess I'll be seeing you in a few days. And…Allen?"

"Yeah, Tim?"

"Can we talk about this Luthor thing a little when I come in?"

"Sure buddy. Just give me a call when you get in."

"I will. See ya later," he said, and hung up the phone.

"Bye," I said, to no one in particular.

Author's Note: It should be noted at this point, that while this story takes place outside of the normal continuity of the DC Universe, it is not an Elseworlds. Current events with Tim Drake and his forfeiture of the Robin mantle being as they are, I have nonetheless put him in the story. The LexTower featured in this story is not the B-13 version, whether it's because the technology was wiped from Metropolis in the February arc featuring Mr. Majestic, or because it simply doesn't matter.


	4. The Man of Steel

The relationship deepens, and Allen and Lex discuss the Man of Tomorrow. 

The next morning--Monday--I groaned at the fact I had to get up and head into school for the final week. The teachers usually gave the seniors their exams a day or three ahead of the underclassmen; they wanted the seniors out of their beloved school before their heads would explode…or so the grapevine told.

In any case, I lived out the first two days in humdrum existence. I spoke to my parents sparingly, if at all; they didn't bother talking to me. However, my mother—relationship builder that she is—decided that she would shoulder the majority of responsibility for organizing and hosting an Open House party for my graduation.

Then, sitting in my Human Physiology class—one of the hardest I've ever taken, and that's from the valedictorian—I decided I would give Luthor a call. Whim was a pretty neat way of getting away with stuff, if acted out properly.

During lunch, I grabbed my cellular from my locker, and started dialing the number for the LexCorp switchboard; Luthor hadn't given me the direct line to his office.

As soon as I dialed the first number, my phone lit up and started ringing—loudly. There was a slight fear that some femi-Nazi teacher would confiscate it, which milled around in the back of my brain, I pressed the green call button and whispered into the receiver. I didn't bother looking at the display to see who was calling.

"Hello?"

"Allen. It's Lex. Don't interrupt. This conversation has been calculated to last exactly forty-eight seconds." Lex sounded deeply sinister, as if he were concerned about something; concealing some dark, dirty secret.

"Uh…okay."

"Good. Allen, I'm sending my helicopter for you. If my estimations are correct, you're at school, right?"

"Right. What's the matter?"

"Whitehorse, right? In Queensland Park?"

"Yeah, well, on the outer edge. North-northwest, I guess you could say."

"Good. My chopper will be there shortly. Be ready to go."

"Fair enough, but…where am I going, exactly?"

"My office. I've some important matters to discuss. Be ready to go when Hope gets there," he concluded ominously.

Then, like a bad dream, Lex Luthor disconnected the line. For what seemed like an eternity, I just stood in the middle of the hallway, staring at my phone, totally in the dark as to how Luthor got my cell number, or what he possibly wanted with me. What bugged me even more--who was this Hope person he spoke of? The low-carb version of Mercy?

I spent the rest of the day in study hall, waiting for the principal to come and tell me to get the hell out of his school for allowing Lex Luthor's private chopper to land on the front lawn.

And land it did. In the middle of the empty front parking lot, on the blazing hot asphalt. At twelve-thirty precisely--a mere ten minutes after Lex hung up on me--his jet-black, narrow-bodied personal helicopter. On the side, emblazoned in sharp gold lettering, was a single capital letter L inside a perfectly round gold circle—the corporate logo of LexCorp International. Only here, in the place where he had not influenced me so far, did he show his power so visibly. I admired his tenacity, but a part of me kept wondering: _why the grandiose, Lex?_ Through the front glass windows, I could see an African American woman. Dressed in the same manner as Mercy, who had served me lunch a week before, this woman was starkly beautiful in her form-fitted chauffeurs outfit--perhaps more so than Mercy.

The noise of the propellers whirring was so loud that, through the empty halls of Whitehorse High School, it echoed into every room; disrupting lectures, distracting students and teachers alike, and sending throngs of both to the window to see the commotion.

I stood from my desk in Study Hall, walked right out through the front hallway, and stared at the chopper, in its glory. Oddly enough, the study hall monitor didn't stop me; she and 600 other members of the faculty and student body were totally engrossed in the cavalier way Luthor brandished his power.

The African American woman stepped out of the helicopter she herself piloted, and approached me. People say I'm tall--at a mere 5'10'', but this lady…she towered over me. I estimated she was a good 6 feet…if not more.

Her voice was…unsettlingly calm, as if she had nothing at all to hide from anyone.

"Allen O'Neill, I presume?"

"Yes, that's…that's me," I said blankly.

"Good," she said. "My name is Hope. Step aboard and we can get going."

I followed suit and fell in step behind her.

Once aboard the copter, I watched the school fall away as craft itself lurched higher to a comfortable altitude. Hope sat in the tan-colored leather seat across from me, slouching, looking at me the way a scientist looks at an ant colony—the same wonder, I suspected, filling her brain. Something about her body language told me she would be slightly more genial to me than Mercy was.   
Or so I hoped.

Five short minutes later, Luthor's helicopter landed on a landing pad at the Flatiron seaport, a few blocks south of the business district. Hope ushered me out of the chopper and into a waiting Cadillac limousine. I got in, buckled the seatbelt. Lex was sitting across from me.

"Afternoon."

"Uh…hi," I said, uneasy, to say the least. I had been whisked away from school for reasons not yet clear to me, so I was, at best, unawares.

"I hope you weren't occupied at school."

"Oh, no, Lex. I just finished an exam." That was a lie, I knew, but when business--especially Lex Luthor's--called you, it was wise to answer. The limo pulled onto Flatiron Boulevard and headed north towards the LexTower.

"I suspect you're hungry."

"A fair assessment, Lex."

"Then you wouldn't mind some lunch? My executive chef has it laid out special for us. Chilean Sea bass. Delicious, if memory serves."

I suddenly found myself at ease; food has that effect on the psyche. I replied absent-mindedly, "That sounds great, Lex."

"Good."

The limo rolled on, towards the rapidly approaching LexTower.

We arrived at LexCorp at 12:30, having left the seaport at 12:15; traffic, even in mid-day, was murder. Lex ushered me out of the limo, through the front lobby, and into an express elevator. Flanking Luthor were his two guards--Hope and Mercy--and six other guards in bulky dark gear that looked like covert SWAT issue. A patch on the left shoulder told me they were the aptly-named 'Team Luthor'. I chuckled at Lex's painfully obvious hubris.

By 12:42, Lex was sitting behind his desk enjoying a custom-made Cuban cigar, and I was enjoying a modest Filet Mignon served by one of Luthor's personal chefs.

I cut into it as Luthor began speaking.

"Again, I am sorry to have dragged you away from school."

"Again, I say: it's no problem."

"Well, good. It shouldn't have been. Your teachers…had everything arranged when I told them I had to 'borrow' you for an afternoon."

My attention went to Luthor immediately. He stubbed out his cigar, looked at me with a slight smile and continued.

"Allen, I see no use in lying to you."

"All right," I replied skeptically. If what he as getting at was true, then Lex Luthor had paid off my teachers—told them to give me, say, a passing grade on my exams—just so he could borrow me for an afternoon. "I'd hate to think you bribed my teachers just so you could shanghai me for an hour."

Was Lex capable of such a thing? My instincts—which were usually dead-on—told me no. Luthor was the greatest philanthropist the world had ever seen; his wealth channeling to over a hundred businesses throughout the world. What business would a sinfully-rich man have in paying off some meaningless teachers?

"In a hundred years, no one will remember me, or what I'm about to do for you. But they will remember the legacy Lex Luthor left to those he truly appreciated," Lex said modestly. As I had known him, Lex was a very modest man, yet so completely self-assured. Both traits, mixed in the proper proportions, were desirable…admirable.

He turned and formed his hands into fists, anchored them to his desk and focused his weight on them; he towered over me like a giant black monolith.

I interjected: "What is it you find so appealing about me, Lex?"

He smiled, sat back down in his chair, and removed a manila folder from his desk. "It's the hair, I swear. I always had a liking for blondes," he said jokingly, waiting for a reaction.

And there was one—I was stunned. Aghast, myriad of thoughts began buzzing in my conscious: _did Lex Luthor just…come on to me? _Lex slid the manila folder across the table and said, "I'm kidding, Allen. In this packet is everything you'll need to know."

"About what?" I glanced doubtingly at him, then opened it. The first sheet of paper was a formally-typed, letter announcing some kind of scholarship. I noticed the official LexCorp letterhead and corporate logo. Before I got the chance to read the letter, Luthor interpolated.

"I'm prepared to offer you 100% tuition coverage at the college of your choice. Renewable for as long as you attend there."

I dropped the packet and letter to the floor, and stared at him blankly. Luthor moved to the front of his desk, hoisted one leg up on it as if he looked like one of those old-time billiard players ready to make the game-winning shot. I guessed he had more gusto than they ever did. Guessed.

"You…you're joking," I countered skeptically.

"Hardly. I've known you for only a few short days, but you've already proven yourself worthy of such an award."

"I…don't know what to say, Lex."

"You don't have to say anything. But before I have Hope take you home, I do need some information on you—college of choice, intended major. And then there are the financial items. You may submit those items to me at your leisure, but I've spoken with your counselors and they do need the information before commencement."

"Of course," I said, nodding my head in agreement.

I put the materials back in the folder and looked past Luthor, out the window, and saw a dark shape moving closer to the panoramic glass. Immediately, I recognized the shape of a man flying in; the long, angular shoulders, the flowing red cape, the jet-black hair, the all-too-heroic spit curl ruffling in the wind, and the chiseled jaw line grinning cordially at me.

I stood and went to the window. Lex followed, and stood behind me. Barely, I could make out what he was saying.

"Alien," he whispered harshly. I looked back towards Luthor, as if questioning the validity of his claim, then looked back out the window. I had done limited research on the superhero known as Superman—it was hard not to know who he was, given my environs. In my studies, I found that he was indeed an alien, not from this planet, but a dead one. Under a yellow sun—our sun, more precisely—Superman was given extraordinary powers beyond those of normal men: heat-vision, ice-breath, near-invulnerability…the list of hyphenated augmentations went on, but I had basically come to the conclusion that Superman, selfless altruist that he was, was a snobbish commentary on the human race—we weren't able to handle things ourselves, so we had to rely on the scouts-honor gospel of an alien and those he associated with. His presence made me feel more confident in what Lex called "the Human Spirit". To Lex--and me--humans were quite capable of handling themselves…without the presence of a selfless ideologue with a bad fashion sense.

I recognized the now-visible red and yellow shield on his broad chest. I was, nonetheless, curious as to the nature of his impending visit. The so-called Man of Steel was flying not at his stereotypical horizontal attitude, but rather hovering gently towards the tower--upright--his cape flowing in perfect symmetry behind him.

Lex went to his desk, pressed a button on the armrest of his chair, and waited patiently for Superman's arrival. The button triggered a motion sensor which made two massive panels of the glass slide back, opening the office to the mid-day breeze. Beneath my feet, I heard the sound of gears whirring. I looked out the window to see a dark steel platform extending from underneath Luthor's office. Luthor gazed at the extending platform. I stepped back from the opening windows and stared apathetically at the so-called Man of Steel.

Superman landed, and threw his bright red cape back over his shoulders, revealing the large diamond 'S' shield which stretched from armpit to armpit. I was not impressed at his feeble attempt to sway my interest. Luthor brushed past me as I locked eyes with Superman. Luthor stuck one hand in his pocket, and inspected the fingernails on his free hand.

"Afternoon, Lex," Superman said augustly, yet snobbishly, as if completely assured of his own supremacy.

"Superman," Lex said flatly. He, too, was unimpressed by Superman. "Might I offer you some Scotch? It's quite delightful."

Superman's attention shifted from the flighty billionaire to me. "Who's the kid?" he said accusingly. I rolled me eyes at the remark; _no one calls me a kid. No one_.

"This," Luthor said with a sigh, "is Allen O'Neill. Valedictorian of Whitehorse High School and this year's recipient of the LexCorp corporate scholarship program."

"Congratulations," Superman said, extending his arm to me, gesturing a handshake. Reluctantly, I looked at his hand for just a moment, and then accepted the handshake.

"Thank you," I said lightly. "I do what I can."

"It's so wonderful to know that there are good-hearted kids like you in Metropolis."

"Yes," Luthor said, interjecting. Superman glanced hatefully at him, as if Lex had just stolen Superman's thunder. "It gives me great hope for the future. A future that, you can be assured, we will both play a large role in, Superman."

Superman whirled his head as if he had just been shocked back to reality, and said, "Oh. Yes. Certainly."

He angled his head away from Lex momentarily, giving me the chance to shoot a mocking expression of Superman at Lex. At his chortling, Superman turned back and spoke to us.

"Well, I meant to be here on a bit more serious note, Lex. But there's an apartment fire up in Suicide Slum. Excuse me," Superman said as he rocketed out the window.

With a sneer, Lex returned to his desk, pressed the same red button, and the windows began coming together again. The metal platform began sliding back into the glimmering façade of the Tower as I turned to Lex. Lighting a cigar, he inhaled deeply and questioned me.

"So," he said, nodding towards the window. "Superman, eh?"

"What a phony," I said contemptuously. Lex smiled halfheartedly.

"A remarkable observation. I myself see Superman as something of a nuisance. He's always been the thorn in my proverbial paw."

"I can see why, Lex. God, I think I almost wanted to vomit."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Everything about the man is so clichéd and self-righteous."

"Sometimes, being self-righteous is a good thing," Luthor said darkly.

"Can't argue with you there," I said. "But Superman...he's got an aura of false glory about him. It's like, the people...they love him simply for being who he is. They love him so much that they don't need any kind of proof that he's a hero. Well, I'm one of those people that like cream cheese with their bagel, without sounding trite."

"It's not enough that Superman is Superman; he's got to have some sort of claim to his name?"

"Exactly, Lex," I said, slamming my hand on the desk. "If he's really a hero, I myself need more proof than some smug Adonis freak that flies around saving people from their worst enemy."

"And who is this enemy?" Luthor leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. The afternoon sun was rapidly descending behind the Daily Planet globe in the distance, encasing Luthor in darkness.

"Ourselves. That's why I don't buy the whole hero thing.You fly around, acting with humanity's best interest in mind, and your reward is nothing, or at least the certain doom that comes with everyone thinking their Superman will save them. You know? Superman saves every doting reporter from here to Star City, and people start behaving unhealthily—living dangerously."

"Interesting outlook, Allen. Go on…please," Lex said darkly. "

"I hate having stuff handed to me Lex," I said. "I think you see that. I think Superman is the propaganda that tells people that someone will always be there to hand them something."

"A fair assessment," Luthor said. "I couldn't have said it any better. You believe in the human spirit, do you Allen?"

"Absolutely. This might sound like rambling, but…the news, WGBS...they all spin Superman as the savior of mankind. The helping hand that's there even if he's not needed. That's what bothers me about him."

"Alright. Let me ask you a question."

"Okay."

"If you had to pick one: God or nature?"

"Nature," I said, without hesitation. "God's never done my taxes."

"Neither has nature."

"True, but at least I can see the real truth of nature—what it really is and how it functions. Superman might have the powers of a god, but I see him as a nut with a messiah complex. How else do you account for the bright colors, the hideously-overdone Boy Scout act, and the all-too-common need to hide his true self from us?"

A wide smile came across Luthor's face. My brow furled, and I questioned him.

"What?"

"My boy, you're the greatest."

"What does that mean?"

"I've never met a man of your caliber. I can see now why I chose to give you that scholarship."

"And why is that, Lex?" I purposely made my voice sound witty, if only to press my luck with Luthor.

"You're a realist--a character trait that is seriously lacking among today's population."

"Yeah," I said, staring at the floor. Lex immediately took notice of my action and inquired. It was amazing, I guess, how my mood turns from complete Superman-bashing into…well, sadness would be putting it lightly…in a matter of a few seconds. _The human spirit_, I thought. _It's a curious thing._

"What is it, my boy?"

"It's…thanks for the compliment and everything, but…"

"But what?" Luthor stood and approached me. Dropping to one knee, he put his hand on my shoulder and softened his voice.

"You can tell me, Allen. You will tell me. Won't you?" And there it was again, the hints of coming on to me. For a moment, the "Dr. Frankenstein" speech ran through my head: _Dear Lord, what have I done? _The answer was not easily attainable.__

"My parents…"

"Ah," he said, standing and leaning on his desk. "Let me guess. You told them you met the legendary Lex Luthor, and they don't believe you?"

"Not at all," I said, still very much interested in the floor.

"Well, then," he said, straightening his jacket. "Every theory begs to be disproved at least once."


	5. The News

Phone calls, fine wines, and luxury suites abounding.

* * *

I looked into Lex's jade eyes. Deep inside my mind, some part of me was questioning his motives, but another part was saying 'Go with it'. 

So I did. Luthor picked up the receiver to his private-lined phone and held it out to me.

"Call them. I'll put it on speaker."

As Lex opened the speaker phone line, I dialed my home number. My mother answered.

"Hi Mom."

"Oh Allen! I'm so glad to hear from you!"

I feigned a smile. Lex chuckled as I held up a finger.

"Is that so?" I asked.

"Yes. We received a call saying some helicopter had picked you up from school. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Lex rolled his eyes and whispered, "Is my reputation not as good as it once was?"

I shrugged and continued: "Listen, Mom, I'm fine. I've got someone here who wants to say hello."

"Oh, Allen, I was so worried that you left school and went into Metropolis and got mugged but now you're okay and I'm just so happy and—"

"Mom."

"Yes, son?"

"Just…hang on the line."

"Okay," she said. I pointed to an eager Lex, who leaned over the speaker.

"Hello Mrs. O'Neill. This is Lex Luthor. I just wanted to give you a ring and tell you what a delightful presence your boy is. He's really a very bright man. You should be very proud of him."

A pause. Lex looked at me quizzically; I shrugged. My mother was usually quick to the punch, but this seemed to really be testing her wits.

"Lex…Luthor?"

"Yes, Mrs. O'Neill."

"My God. Allen, I'm so sorry for ever doubting you," she said apologetically.

"That's alright, mom," I said.

"So, Mr. Luthor," she added as Lex waved his finger playfully over the disconnect button. "How old are you are you married what kind of car do you drive are you married can I come visit you?"

Lex laughed heartily and replied. "I'll do what I can. In any event, it was dear Allen's idea to phone you. He's got some news I think would be paramount to you."

"Okay. Allen, what's the big news?" she said curiously.

"Well, Mr. Luthor has just awarded me the LexCorp corporate scholarship."

"Oh, my," she said. "What does that mean?"

"That means," Luthor interjected, "that your son will receive 100% full tuition coverage at the school of his choice."

"Allen," she said, full of wonder. "You're very lucky. And it works out wonderfully because you're going to go to the University of Metropolis, aren't you?"

"Yes, mom. It does work out quite nicely."

"Mrs. O'Neill," Luthor added. "I hope you realize what a gift your son is. His intelligence is not a gift to be taken lightly. He's a very smart man, capable of so much more than he has already accomplished. He is, in all regards, a wonderful boy. You're lucky to have him."

After a pause, my mother replied, saying "Thank you very much, Mr. Luthor. May I speak to my son privately?"

"Certainly," he said, as he lifted the receiver to my ear. As he did, he mouthed to me: "what are you studying?"

I wrote "journalism" on a sheet of paper and showed it to a pleased Lex.

"Allen, this is wonderful, my mother said. "You be sure and thank Mr. Luthor. He's a wonderful man. We'll have to send him a ham."

"Mom!"

"What?"

"I don't think Lex Luthor is in the business of accepting gifts from people."

At his desk, Luthor smiled and went back to filling out paperwork.

"In any case, I'm well aware of what he's doing for me. This cuts the effort of college in half, you know. A hundred percent tuition, Mom! Do you know what that means?"

"Yes, Allen," she said, in that tone she takes when she speaks to you like you're a six-year old. "That means you owe this man your life!"

"Way to give the thing a sense of impending doom," I said sarcastically.

"I'm serious Allen. If this man tells you to jump, you say how high. You need to stay around this man for a long time, if for nothing else than to continually thank him for his generosity. Apply for an internship at LexCorp, get a job in town, do what you can."

"Yes, mother," I said insistently.

"Okay. If you're coming home tonight, your father and I won't be there. Your aunt Iris in Keystone City is sick, so we bought the last ticket on the Red Eye. We'll see you Saturday."

Realizing it was Thursday, I rolled my eyes at the prospect of another week alone.

"Okay, mom," I said. "How was 'Cats' the other night?"

"Oh nothing special. I lost attention within the first two minutes. Last time I ever spend 56 dollars for bad seats."

"Live and learn, they say," I counseled.

"Right, Allen. Well, your father's already got his bags packed, and I've got to do the same. Have fun and don't forget what I told you."

"I won't. Give Aunt Iris my best."

"Will do. Bye Allen."

"Bye," I said, and hung the receiver back on the hook. I sighed, exhausted, and turned back to Lex.

"Well, another week with myself," I said wearily.

"You're a testament to independent living," Lex said dryly.

"Ditto for you. Say, in all this time, I've never seen your house. If you don't mind me asking, were do you live?"

"Well, Allen," Lex said, standing and going to his liquor cabinet on the far side of the room. "As you well know, this office occupies almost half of the top floor of the LexTower. The other half is the boardroom. My penthouse is downtown. Hypersector, they call it. I own the complex it's in, as well as the surrounding twenty blocks.

"Cool. The rent you receive must be pretty lucrative."

"Oh yes, the city gives me a tax-abated, flat-rate for the buildings. The pay off is a rent price the tenants have found very reasonable over the past ten years. In any case, my penthouse is what I like to call a little mix of the Old World. Renaissance, Greece, Rome. And there are elements of my Scottish ancestry there as well. Would you like to see it? You can go right over; Hypersector is only a few blocks."

"Oh, no," I said without hesitation. "I'd love to, but I've got some work to do. A graduation speech doesn't write itself, you know."

"It certainly doesn't," Luthor said. "If you bring me a copy of your speech, I'd love to give it a **once-over**."

"You'd do that?" I asked poignantly. "I mean, it would sure help me out, getting advice from someone like you."

"Of course. If I can do one thing to lighten your day, then I'll do my best to get it done."

"You're a wonderful man, Lex," I said, warmly.

"I appreciate that. Now, I believe Hope received your books and effects from Whitehorse, so that's all up in your room."

"My…room?" _Now_, I thought, _Luthor was really going out of his way._

He smiled, opened a drawer in his desk, held up a small plastic card, and threw it to me. I caught it, and read the label: "LexCorp Tower Suites".

"There's a room prepared for you on the 110th floor, if you're willing. Free of charge."

Astounded, I took the man up on his offer. After leaving Lex's office, Hope met me outside my room and handed my duffel, my book bag and some other notebooks over to me. Thanking her politely, I slid the plastic room card through the reader, opened the door and threw my belongings on the floor just beyond the threshold.

I always thought of myself as a simple suburban yokel, but I had known the acclaim of the LexTower Suites for some time. They were **themed** rooms; that is to say, each room was decorated in motifs from some historical period. The room Luthor had furnished for me was what Hope called "the Atlas Suite". The walls in the sitting room were high and vaulted, and painted in a royal blue color. In the four corners of the sitting room, there were alabaster sculptures of a Greek hero heaving his strong arms prominently above his head, giving the illusion that he was supporting the ceiling. Atlas. I chortled at the ingenuity. Luthor had hired some pretty top-**o'**-the-line architects and designers. Luthor believed in the best of the best, and it showed through his choice of abode for me—his simple suburban houseguest.

The hallway from the sitting room to the bedroom was segregated by ivory-hued double doors; each had the corporate logo etched into the design. I pushed them open, and saw the queen sized bed with gold-colored sheets and pillows on it. On it the arm pillow was a small mint and an index card from the maid. Picking it up, I read it aloud.

"Welcome to the Atlas Suite. Enjoy your stay. Rosita."

_ Ah, housekeeping._

There was no telling how long I was going to be staying here, so I unpacked all my clothes and put them in drawers. Was it wrong to take Lex up on his latest generous offer? No, I was being hospitable, following my mother's advice. God knows this was certainly better than shacking up for the next week in my empty house. Was Lex trying to get something out of me? I didn't have an answer for that.

I'd had a long day. I felt I owed to myself to run a bath.

In the middle of my bath, I heard the doorbell ring. It was an old-school chime bell, which resonated through every corner of the suite. Stepping out of the tub, drying myself quickly, I slung the wet towel around my waist as I went for the door. I opened it, and saw what I surmised to be the front-desk lady. She was, I could surmise, by no means a concierge. I could see in her eyes that she didn't want to be here, but chances were Luthor probably sent her.

"Mr. O'Neill?"

"Yes," I said, momentarily glancing at my waist to see that the towel held. I looked up and saw the lady—attractive in her own right—glance dubiously at my abs. I wasn't a modest man in those days; I believed in living well and getting all the exercise I could. Having been on no sports team during high school, many of my friends would harangue me as to why I kept in such great shape. I told them straightforwardly that I believed in living and living well.

In any case, I glanced back at the desk lady. She snickered—probably out of amusement more than anything else—and removed a tall glass bottle from behind her back. She handed me the bottle and an accompanying corkscrew and smiled demurely.

"Compliments of Mr. Luthor. Enjoy."

She walked away briskly, and left me—clad-in-nothing-but-a-towel Allen O'Neill in the hallway looking at a bottle of vintage 1942 Merlot. I shrugged lightly, saying to myself, "living…and living well."

With that, I walked back into my suite, closed the door, and popped the cork on the Merlot. I located the goblets in the dry bar near the far side of the sitting room, took one and returned to the tub. I picked up the portable phone on my way.

I dropped my towel on the warm tiled floor and slunk back into the tub. I set the bottle of Merlot on the ledge to my right, and held the bulb of the goblet just above the water line; I didn't want disgusting bathwater in my drink. After a sip or two, I decided to call Tim Drake.

I had dimmed the lights, so I could see little in front of the tub's periphery. Sitting lazily in the tub, I decided to dip my head below water.

Luthor apparently love the best of everything: women, cigars, buildings, everything. That list extended to his opulent hotel suites. The bed in my suite took up almost the whole room it was in. The sitting room had a high, vaulted ceiling and furnishings straight from Frank Lloyd Wright. The washroom had solid marble fixtures which retained heat from the water in the tub. The tub itself had built-in jets for added luxury.

Those were the jets that were poking my thigh. _Damn Luthor_, I thought pointlessly. _Oh well, don't suppose I could get mad at the man for misplacing his jets_.

As I pondered these thoughts, I reached behind me, grabbed a washcloth and set it on the tub-edge behind me as a head rest. Again, I felt at rest, but not to the degree I had at home. I picked up the phone, and dialed the number for Wayne Manor—the place Tim told me to call. After several rings, the voice on the other end—sounding like an old-man—answered. I sat up in the tub.

"Wayne Manor."

"Uh, hi. This is Allen O'Neill. I'm calling for Tim Drake?"

"Yes, sir. Hold the line, would you?"

"Sure," I said as I heard the voice set the receiver down. As I waited, I polished off the Merlot in my goblet and set it aside. I heard someone pick up the receiver.

"My most sincere apologies, sir. It appears master Timothy has gone out."

"Oh, nuts," I muttered. "You, uh…you wouldn't happen to know where he went would you."

"I believe he said 'gone off in search of a lady'."

"Yeah…sounds like Tim, alright," I said.

"Perhaps you might leave a message that I could relay?"

"Yes, that'd be great. Could you just, uh, tell him that I'm in Metropolis and it's sort of urgent?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"Thank you very much," I said humbly.

"You're entirely welcome, Mister O'Neill. Take care."

"Uh huh," I said, and pushed the disconnect button. I leaned back in the tub, and dozed off.

It was the sound of the telephone ringing in my ear--that shrill, spine-piercing ring which had a way of interrupting your thoughts--that jolted me awake. Groggy (I guessed I had been asleep longer than suspected), I picked up the phone and clicked the 'Talk' button.

"H—hello?"

"Allen. Don't interrupt. This conversation has been calculated to last exactly 30 seconds."

_ Where had I heard that before_? I gritted my teeth and agreed. That was the second time in a week someone had done that to me.

"Who is this?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"There's no time for that, and this line is not secure. Meet me at the front entrance to the Galaxy Communications building. Midnight."

I glanced at the clock on the wall. 11:45. Damn. Before I could reply, I heard…whoever it was on the other end hang up the receiver. Grumbling, I pulled myself out of the tub, the sudden lack of warm insulation giving me goosebumps. I dried off and went to the bureau in the bedroom. I pulled on khaki shorts and a white t-shirt, and left the suite promptly. I didn't get to the Galaxy Building until 12:10; the LexTower—with its immensity—had a way of messing with your sense of direction. In any case, when I got there, I paced back and forth nervously, stuck my hands in my pockets, and waited for this mystery figure to show up.

I like to think I have a pretty good ear, and a pretty good sense of company—I can tell when someone else is in the room. In that vein, I heard a rustling somewhere behind me. The Galaxy Communications building was located in the heart of downtown—the Financial Center, as it was called—situated along side Broadway, the most-traveled street in town.

On the south side of the Galaxy building was a narrow alley that was once used for shipments to the now-defunct Showtime Deli next door. Hard times had fallen on the Deli, and Luthor put it out of its misery a few years back, after Superman came back from the dead.

_ Back from the dead…what a town to live in._

So, there I stood, considering myself very lucky that this wasn't the Red Light district. My ears followed the rustling behind me. I backed into the alley, trying uselessly to keep up the innocent-guy façade. I backed into the alley, until I was certain I was in complete darkness. Then, I heard the voice.

"Allen."

I shot around, stared into the darkness. I squinted, and saw a dark figure emerge. In front of me was a…boy. His frame told me he was about my age or younger. I noticed his boyish complexion, a chiseled jaw line, jet-black hair mussed up at the top and bold cobalt eyes which already spoke volumes about him. Having not seen him in almost six months, it took my brain just a moment to recognize him.

"Tim…"

> > He nodded slowly, and approached me.
>> 
>> "I thought you were in search of a lady."
>> 
>> "I lied," he said disturbingly. "I've been in Metropolis for a week. Watching you. Watching him."
>> 
>> "Who?" I asked, perplexed to the utmost.
> 
> "Take off your shirt," he said, as if he didn't even hear my question.

"What?" I shrieked.

"Just do it," he said, annoyed. Hastily, I pulled up my tee, and bared my chest to Tim.

"Just what are you looking for?"

"A bug. You've been staying in the LexTower. Chances are, while you were in the bath, one of his aides snuck in and hid a microphone on your clothes."

"How did you know I was in the bath?"

> > "I have my ways," he said, as he patted my legs. "Okay. You're clean."
>> 
>> "Right," I said, doubtingly. "What was that for?"
>> 
>> "What do you think? You've been hanging around with Lex Luthor."
>> 
>> "So?" I asked mockingly. It was then that I assumed the 'him' that Tim referred to was Luthor.

Tim looked at me pryingly, and spoke: "Let's go for a walk."

I nodded innocently, and fell into step behind him.

"You know, you're much too smart for this kind of thing, Allen."

> > "What's that supposed to mean?" I accused.

"Hanging out with Luthor," Tim said, as we made our way across the street. We were heading uptown.

"Since when do you care who I associate with?"

"Since you are a good friend. Since I worry about you. And since Lex Luthor is a bad man."

"Bad man?" I rebuffed. "Bad man? Lex Luthor is the world's greatest philanthropist."

Tim scowled and managed a response past gritted teeth: "Take what you want from that flimsy billionaire ticket he rides. Hear me out, and then you can decide whether I'm right or not."

"Fair enough," I said as we made our way further uptown. In the distance, I could see the trees in Centennial Park drawing nearer.

> > "Without sounding like I'm coming on too strong—"
>> 
>> "Too late for that," I interjected.

Tim continued, unharmed by the lapse in manners. "You've got to believe me when I say that Lex is a bad man. If I told you half the things he's done, you would probably have a small seizure."

> > I stopped and stared doubtingly at him. "Right, Tim. A **seizure**."

"I'm not joking," he said. I started walking again, and we came to the cobblestone path leading into Centennial Park. "Do you want to hear the bad stuff, or the worse stuff?"

"Bad," I said, dismissively. It was too late for me to tell Tim to call off his dogs, but there was something about the way Tim was conducting himself that told me to run with it. Say what you might about Tim Drake, like my father, he was an honest man. He never told any more of the truth than he had to, but he always had a way of connecting with the person he was talking to. That's what I admired about him: he never sought to impress anyone and knew his own expectations were the most important.

"Okay," Tim said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's see."

> > "Searching the library, Tim?" I muttered.
>> 
>> "You asked for it, pal."

"Alright," I said. "Get on with it. I'm missing O'Reilly."

"Let's start with one of the first things. He staged a terrorist attack aboard his own yacht just to get Superman's attention."

"Good for him. Superman saves the day, everyone's happy. Got anything else?"

"He's put innocent lives in danger, Allen. Not just on the yacht…**countless** times afterward."

"Have you seen death certificates?" I asked bluntly as we came to the illuminated statue of Superman, in the center of Centennial Park.

"No," Tim mumbled.

"Then no harm, no foul. I hope you've got more than that."

"He faked his own death, cloned a body, and came back as a sweet-talking Australian."

I gazed up at the Superman statue, and then over at Tim. Subconsciously or not, I began digging deep into my mind, trying to find truth in what Tim was saying. If what he was saying was true—and that was open to debate—I wasn't going to let some relationship with a billionaire get in the way of a friendship with an honest guy.

"Farfetched as that **sounds**, I do seem to remember my parents talking about Lex Luthor the second and how he was dating Supergirl or some shit like that."

> > "That's what I'm talking about."

"Human cloning is next to **impossible**. Even with the science we have, it's not feasible," I said, desperate to disprove Tim. On some level, I guess I knew he was telling the truth. I just wasn't accepting it.

"Think about it, Allen. Is anything impossible when you have the money to back it and the willpower to stomp anyone who gets in your way?"

I looked at Tim, and felt a great emptiness inside me all of the sudden; as if a flame inside my soul had been burning—trying to hide some truth about Lex—and suddenly burnt out.

"That doesn't mean anything, Tim," I said. My voice was without conviction or emotion. It was as if I had suddenly been thrown out into the cold by Tim Drake…because he just had to tell me everything. For some reason—no matter how cosmic or whatever—I believed Tim. He's never lied to me before, if ever in his life. I didn't know how he knew what he was telling me, but it was…unsettlingly surreal.

> > "If that doesn't change your mind, then this will."

"What?" I asked, as I read the inscription on the plaque at the base of Superman's statue: Earth's Greatest Hero. I scoffed and heard Tim say something else.

> > "Lex killed his own parents, Allen."

My gaze shifted from the plaque to Tim, and I was struck with fear and amazement at the same time, Hastily, I tried to cover it up. "You can't be serious," I said. "He's not that kind of man."

"He placed a hefty insurance claim on them, paid some mechanic to tamper with their brakes, and collected the money. Never went to jail for that. He paid grown men to beat up schoolyard bullies in grade school. Some biographer named Sands was gonna air Lex's dirty laundry to the world. Lex had him killed."

My head drooped heavily, and I felt a great pain in my stomach. I grimaced, and turned to Tim. He started walking away from the Superman statue; out of Centennial Park.

I felt it was necessary, if only out of spite, to press my luck: "If, and this is a very big if, what you're saying is true: what am **I** gonna do about it?"

> > "You get out of town. Sever all ties with Luthor."

I found it highly incredible to even think that Lex Luthor—the man who was giving up so much of his time to be a positive impact on me—was capable of murder, extortion, and a veritable lexicon of other white-collar crimes. But some part of me said 'You never know what you're capable of until you actually do it, you know.'

_ Yeah…I know. _

Grudgingly, I continued listening to Tim, unsure at best if his words held a small hint of truth. In the middle of his latest accusation—something about Lex killing his wife or something—I interrupted Tim.

"Jesus, Tim," I blurted savagely into the night air. He stopped and looked at me innocently.

> > "What? What'd I say?"

"What didn't you say," I accused dryly. "You're equating a very nice man with the spawn of Satan. Kills his wife, kills his parents, and makes a ring out of Kryptonite…extremely farfetched stuff, my friend."

"Allen, I'm only saying what—"

> > "What I 'needed to hear'? Take another shot, boyo."

Tim turned his head to me uncomprehendingly. "I thought this would be good for you. That it might sway your opinion of him. Lex Luthor is a bad man and he obviously wants you to do something for him. Otherwise, he would have thrown you out of the building a long time ago."

I pursed my lips, looked at the cloudless night sky, and then back at Tim. "I want to believe you Tim. I really do. You've never lied to me before, but this time…"

I saw his head droop as I continued. "I just think you're jealous."

His head shot back up and he stared at me savagely, as if his eyes were piercing my very soul.

"There is something happening here that's bigger than you, me, or whatever relationship you **think** you have with Luthor," Tim said pressingly. "He can't be trusted. You're too smart to not have that figured out by now."

"Oh, whatever, Tim!" I said loudly. "Can't you just accept the fact that Lex is giving me everything I've always wanted? I'm about to start the next phase of my life and you can't see past the grim details of Lex Luthor's past? It's his past Tim; it doesn't matter anymore. Not to me, anyway."

Tim lowered his head and stared at me. If looks could kill, I guessed I would have been dead long ago. Tim looked at me through narrowed eyes. I could see his jaw muscles clenched tightly as he held back an outburst.

"I've seen the limits of what that bald Machiavelli can do, and let me tell you: it's no picnic."

I dismissed Tim's claim and went on. "If there is proof that Lex has done half the bad things you say he has, I'd sure as hell like to see it. Because you're not convincing me otherwise."

This was pointless, I concluded. Tim and I were firmly entrenched in our views, and nothing either of us said would sway opinion one way or another. _Welcome to partisanship_, Allen, I thought. Tim arched his neck, stretching it, and looked back at me through crestfallen eyes. I suddenly realized it; I had angered him so much that instead of trying to counterattack, he just shut up and let me run with my little elegy. I felt terrible. Here was Tim, trying to warn me about Luthor, and all I could do was jump on the defensive…I couldn't even make a sound argument.

> > "Tim…"
>> 
>> "No, Allen. It's alright. You're right. See ya 'round."

I watched Tim stroll into the cool Metropolis night. As I wandered the downtown shopping center, I thought about many things. My parents, Tim, Aunt Iris…oddly. But most of all, maybe there was a slightest of slight chances that Lex had done some of the things Tim had said, but it didn't matter now. Whatever Lex had done years ago was a veritable flash in the pan compared to the here-and-now.

He was giving me a future--one that I could not have attained so easily by another means--and that was all that mattered to me.


	6. The Mercy

"A man who wishes to act entirely up to his professions of virtue soon meets with what destroys him among so much that is evil."

-Niccolo Machiavelli

I spent the rest of the night walking through the downtown area. Around 3: 30 a.m., I found a small coffee shop near the Daily Planet, and enjoyed a cup of straight coffee. Over the piping hot liquid, I kept cycling Tim's words over in my head.

If Luthor, as Tim said, is this "master criminal" then why was he being so beneficent to me? If Tim's assertions were correct, then Luthor would have "paid someone to kill me" a long time ago—a long shot, at best, and a flat out lie at worst; I myself thought I was snooping into parts of his life and business that I should not have, but it was easily rectifiable. Or else he didn't think of me as some kind of threat. Then again, that's moderately surprising. My own girlfriend thought I was a pushover. Ditto for the parents.

When I first told them that I had met and started a…business relation with Luthor, they were unassailably skeptic. Either they knew the truth and refused to accept it, or they had some deep residing reason for hating Lex Luthor. Either way, the answer was still up in the air.

Finishing off my coffee, I laid down the tip, and left. I decided I would head back to my suite in the LexTower; _get some rest_, I told myself. _You can sort this out in the morning._

When I got back to the suite, I opened the door and turned on the TV. I got the late night broadcast of WGBS. Suddenly, I realized I was in the dark. I went for the dimmer knob on the far side of the room and turned it up, illuminating the room in bronze hues. Small lights imbedded into the hardwood floor of the sitting room on four sides shone brightly up at the four identical statues of Atlas in each corner. I looked past the vaulted archway that led into the bedroom, past the door into the bathroom, and saw the half-empty bottle of Merlot on the edge of the tub. I went for it. I had also left the large bay window in the washroom open. The air was the smell of a cold front rolling in off the Atlantic and mixed aromas from the tub. It was…bliss.

I picked up the bottle, regarded the label for just a moment, popped it open and drank straight from it. I'd had a long night, and felt I deserved it. I also found I had not bothered to open the drain on the tub; the water was still in there and as hot as ever. I let out a half-hearted sigh. I went for the light-switch by the archway.

Upon flicking on the dim lights in the bathroom, I sighted Mercy Graves sitting in the wicker chair on the far side of the room. She was…prim and proper, if the description fit: sitting perfectly erect in the otherwise uncomfortable chair. Her hands were clasped firmly in her lap, and her legs were swept curtly under the chair, so as not to…you know, reveal anything. She wore no expression on her face, other than the usual menstruating-bitch attitude she so excellently displayed whenever I showed up to Lex's office.

It became clear to me at that moment that she skeleton-keyed her way in on some mercy mission from Lex. Or, she was here on her own terms, a slightly more unsettling scenario. Unconvinced and spiteful as I think I could possibly be, I questioned her accusingly.

"Shouldn't you be feeding Lex his dinner?"

She made no effort to reply. I made no effort to hide the fact that I didn't like this woman. She had probably given Lex some of the best years of her life—which was debatable, seeing as she looked no older than thirty—but that didn't stop me. She, conversely, had made no effort over the past two weeks to hide the fact that she was quite adept at handing Lex everything on a silver platter. The way I saw it, he was relatively able to do things himself, but the 'I'm rich so treat me like it' mentality had probably worked its way into his mind long ago. Bottom-line: between the two of them I liked Hope better.

I'm the kind of person that likes to go hunting for things on his own. When Lex announced he was giving me his corporate scholarship, I suspected he did it as a courtesy to me. Then, Tim came in and said some pretty mean things about Luthor—some of which were true, some of which were just outlandish stretches of truth.

I jumped the gun—prematurely made up my mind that Lex couldn't be a nicer man if he tried. But deep down, as I stood there, dubiously, scornfully staring into Mercy Graves' eerie brown eyes, some part of me said, 'You know Lex sent her up here to check on you. You just know it because he's that kind of man.'

_That's Tim Drake talking. _

I decided to press on with this little showdown.

"You haven't answered my question."

"Lex was…concerned about you," she said brusquely. "We came up here at 12:00, but you weren't here."

"Tell Lex…that he can't expect me to stay locked up in his little bell tower," I said as I drank more from the bottle. "It's a night on the town. I'm bound to step out, if only for a moment. And you could've called my cellular. Did that occur to you?"

"Lex anticipated you would return."

"Of course," I said. "This is my, ah, current residence, Miss Mercy. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Of course," she replied tightly.

"So," I rebuffed as I finished off the Merlot. "You still haven't answered my question."

Oh, did she get tight-lipped at that. It might have been the warmer-than-normal temperature in the room, but I thought I momentarily saw the hair on her neck stand on end. I smiled barely and waited for another embellishment to roll off her tongue.

"Lex sent me up here—as a personal favor—to wait for you until you return."

"How nice," I said curtly. I ran my open hand through the water, flicked the droplets on the tiled floor and looked back at Mercy. "As you can plainly see I'm back, Mercy. You can go now."

She stood and went for the door; silently, swiftly. I jumped in front of her and opened one of the double doors.

"Have a good night," I said spitefully.

She didn't respond as she slid into the hallway.

I didn't get to sleep that night; instead I worked on polishing up my graduation speech.

Having fallen asleep over my speech after I finished it at five the next morning, I remembered Lex saying something about wanting to read it. I ran down to Lex's office, with my speech fluttering in my hands, and found him at his desk, busily filling out paperwork. The panoramic windows behind his expansive desk gave an impressive view of the morning sun and the horizon. The entire city was illuminated in the pastel hues of a spring sunrise. In the background, I saw the Daily Planet, the Galaxy Building, and further up, the Metropolis Plaza hotel, where I'd stayed just last week.

"What are you looking at Allen?"

Out of one of the windows of the Daily Planet, I saw a blue streak zip out from the building and jet past Lex's window.

_Superman. _

"Nothing," I said. The rising sun which had bathed the city in amber hues wrapped around Lex, covering his front side in darkness.

He made fists and focused his weight on them, saying "Have that speech ready?"

"Obviously," I said, keenly pleased with my own genius.

"Let's see how you did," Lex said eagerly. I approached the desk with the rutted speech fluttering behind me.

"Well," I said as I handed the loose leaf to him. "It's nothing great. Took me about two hours, though."

"It'll work," he said reassuringly. For the next ten minutes, I sat anxious, awaiting his verdict: good, bad or ugly. "Well," he finally said. "I'm impressed."

"Really?" I asked, as if the desired outcome—Lex telling me it was tripe that he wouldn't feed to…well, Mercy—hadn't occurred.

"Yes. How many speakers are there at your graduation?"

"Four. Myself, the salutatorian, and the next two people in the class with the highest G.P.A."

"Excellent," Luthor said, pleased. "When is it?"

"Sunday at 7 o'clock," I said. I detected a hint of hesitation in my own voice. As if I didn't know why I was telling Luthor this. Chances were, he wouldn't be able to come; business—especially that of the richest company in the West—didn't have room for personal trips.

And yet…and yet, Luthor had made time for me over the past two weeks. He had willingly let me in on his private life; become privy to some of his most secret affairs; offered me housing even when I didn't need it, given me food when I didn't want it. Mostly, though, Lex had given me money that I certainly didn't deserve.

Points to ponder.

I suddenly realized that it was Friday; my last day of high school, nay, as a senior. I had to get back to Whitehorse.

"Lex," I said spontaneously. Lex had gone back to filling out his paperwork. I was quite adept at reading upside down, so I inferred he was filling out bank balance sheets. Apparently, if LexCorp had a finance department, Lex didn't use it that much; he did his own banking…I suppose that was why LexCorp had such spotless records. But the again, I had spent enough time around him in recent days to know that he was a micromanager; gifted in noticing, altering, and taking care of the details. Every last one of them. I felt a shiver run down my spine.

"What?" He replied briskly, not looking up from his work.

"It's…my last day at Whitehorse. I'd kind of like to get back. You know, celebrate the big 'Senior's Last Day'."

"If I might, what's so special about this last day?"

"Well, all the seniors assemble on the football field where a big carnival is erected and we pretty much, uh, waste the day."

"Sounds interesting."

"So, um, if you…don't need me here…" I stopped short of finishing the sentence; Lex had stopped writing. Instead, he went to the top drawer of his desk, pulled out a green slip of paper and scrawled something on it. With a friendly smile, he handed the paper to me.

"Take this to Hope down in the main lobby. She'll see that you get back to Whitehorse on time."

"Okay. Thank you, Lex."

"Don't mention it," he said as I started back for the doors.

"Allen," he said, as I folded my speech and slipped it into my back pocket. "Your effects from the suite will be sent to your home later today."

"Okay."

"Have a wonderful day."

While in the elevator leading down to the lobby, I figured I'd humor myself and take a look at what Lex scrawled on the slip of paper. Holding it up to the light, I read the note aloud.

"Hope--make sure Allen gets back to Whitehorse by 9:05 a.m. No excuses or you'll be on the street by 9:05."

I hope she would take that to heart.


	7. The Girl

Allen finds Hope...and promptly loses it.

* * *

"Okay, Allen. I think we can work this out," Hope Taya said as she folded the note and stuffed it into the jacket pocket of her tight-fitting chauffeurs outfit. She led me back through the main lobby, down a dimly-lit hallway which had various paintings on the walls. The ceiling—which wasn't really a ceiling at all—was made up of interconnecting panes of glass, giving the illusion of a mirror. Spaced between the panes of glass were halogen lights that automatically brightened when Hope and I walked under them.

For simple suburban folk like me, the technology in the building was a marvel.

Finally, we came to a set of Utility Doors. With a heavy grunt, Hope heaved one open, smiled and let me pass.

We were outside. Directly in front of me was a dark blue Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost. 1937 model. Cabriolet. After all, I might be the debatably-smartest kid in the graduating class, but I have hobbies. Hope jumped in front of me and opened the door.

"We'll have you at school in no time," she said congenially. With that, she stepped in behind me and motioned to the driver to get going.

Within ten minutes, the Rolls parked in the front lot of Whitehorse High School. Fumbling through my cargo shorts, I handed Hope a twenty and thanked her kindly for the ride. I checked my watch. 8:58. _She's good_.

"Allen, you know I can't take this," she said plainly. Yet, I detected that certain motherly charm in her voice. Definitely nicer than Mercy.

"I insist," I said. Reluctantly, she took the bill, but held it between her fingers as if it were somehow infected. I shrugged, turned away, opened the door and jumped out.

With all the action in Metropolis of late, I breathed a sigh of relief when I thought of spending a little downtime with these people…my friends.

That was Friday. My weekend went uneventful; I went out to a movie with my girlfriend of three years—Sara Andrews.

Sara was nice. Say what you might about her, and I'd spare the clichés, she was a super gal. She had all the definable traits of a movie star and all the qualities of the girl next door, the latter of which she had been for ten of my years. She was idyllic. Standing a modest 5 feet and 10 inches to my even 6 feet, I could see straight through her cobalt eyes. To say she was beautiful wasn't enough, but to say she was my world was too far.

Sara took a side seat to me when news got out that little Allen O'Neill would be the Valedictorian. I'd always thought our relationship had what those trashy romance novels labeled an "unspoken bond".

I was wrong. In my unbridled successes—valedictorian, star track athlete (I said I'd avoid the clichés), and my recent…relations with Lex Luthor, the most powerful man in the West, if not the world—Sara never told me outright what she thought of Luthor. Whenever we found a moment to ourselves—which wasn't often, given the activities of the past two weeks with Lex—she essentially shot me an evil eye and the cold shoulder if his name came up. In retrospect, it was like he was some sort of extra-normal influence, the guy that was trying to "tear me away from the woman I love". I liked to think that my relation with Lex wasn't so much like a soap opera. That aside, there was something Sara didn't like about Lex, which I could tell. I simply had to put my finger on what exactly it was. Easier said than done.

I thought it would be tacky if I asked her off the cuff what she thought of him—I didn't know if she would want to answer, or if she would give me a straight answer.

So kept my mouth shut.

Truth is that there were many people—not just my parents and Tim Drake—who thought what I was doing with Luthor wasn't good for me. My grandparents told me he was an immoral man; my grandfather had once been foreman of a construction site where LexCorp was putting up a tech facility. One bumbling slip-up and an engineer's accidental death later, Luthor fired my grandfather. The curious irony is this: he gave my father a pension he could live off for likely a dozen lifetimes. What it came down to, my grandfather told me, is how much Luthor likes to tighten his grip on people. Lex's grip on my grandfather was loose enough that he was able to retire at a healthy level.

When I told Sara about Lex, she was slightly less skeptical than my parents, though the same emotions were expressed. We didn't speak to each other for a long time after that; I was angry with her, and she later told me she didn't want to talk about it until I had cooled down. I knew full well that I was not angry—at least not in any way I could tell, but Sara was like a periscope into my mind; always knowing what made me tick and always there to cool the engines.

She always…understood in that way.

I guessed, over the past two weeks that I had known Lex Luthor, that he had such a healthy grip on me. It didn't overly concern me, though. Lex had given me more than I ever wanted—or needed. Sara had given me more, though, than Lex ever could. She was the love of my life.

I never asked for it, but I thanked my stars I had it.

Sunday came slower than expected and with it the prospect of finally going out into the world as a contributing member of society. The graduation ceremony was held outside, in the Whitehorse Knights football stadium. In recent years, the stadium had become famous—or infamous rather—for the teams painfully-clear inability to win a championship game. They had no effort getting through the regular season, but there was always something unsettling about going into playoff territory—new territory—and facing a foe you had no preconceived notions about. That was always the danger of taking risks: not knowing what, exactly, you'd gotten yourself into.

As for me, I knew full-well what I had gotten myself into with Lex. He was a nice man—giving, thoughtful, charitable as he could be. Only…there was some underlying instability about him. I had sensed it from the first time we'd met. Lex had a dark side, no doubts there. I just wondered how deep it went, and how much it would take for said instability to surface.

The graduating class was arranged in two sections—five rows, each one arranged in block form, facing the track at forty-five degree angles. The stage—where the podium stood, where the school board and principal sat, where the names of the graduating class were read in front of God and everyone—sat parallel to the track. Sara sat on the end of row three; I was in the center.

I decided to drive to the ceremony by myself; Sara with me. My parents, while not entirely comfortable with the idea, acquiesced and drove by themselves. On the way to the high school, Sara and I said precious little. About anything. It may have been the excitement of the occasion, or the strong presence of silence—a debilitating thing in its way—in my car, but I looked over and saw her wringing her hands nervously.

"Sara," I said.

"What?" Even when she was upset or nervous or anything like that, her voice still sounded golden. God, she was perfect.

"You appear to be distressed. What's the matter?"

"You always do that," she said quietly.

"Do what?" I asked innocently.

"**That**…you always use bigger words when you want to seem more powerful. You always talk smarter when you think you've got something important to say."

"Well, I was just asking an innocent question, dear. Is there any harm in that?"

I glanced at her, then back at the road, and waited for a response.

"No…there isn't," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Okay."

A pause. I decided to open the conversation lines again.

"So…"

"So…" she mimicked.

"Excited about tonight?"

"What's to be excited about, Allen? It's just another hoop we're required to jump through," she said contemptuously.

"True enough, but it's a very important hoop."

"I guess," she murmured. Then, I looked over and saw her staring idly out the window at the passing tree lines.

"You're nervous aren't you?'

"In a way."

"Care to share. After all, I'm the one who has a speech to read."

"It's not the speech, Allen."

"Then what is it?" Perhaps I'd come on too strong; I detected a roughness in my voice that…wasn't intended. I tried to cover it up, but she had already spotted it.

"It's Luthor."

"Here it comes," I murmured.

"You asked for it Allen. You've **been** asking for it for a long time."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked. In the distance, I spotted the high school. They had turned the stadium lights on.

"You go to Metropolis for a week; I'm fine with it. You get personal days, and I get the same. Everyone's happy. But…this Luthor thing."

"What about Luthor?" The conversation was getting intense—not entirely out of necessity.

"You've know him for what—two weeks, and you're hanging around with him like the guy that hangs around the middle-aged square guy for drugs, Allen."

"What are you saying, dearest?" I asked through tight lips, still trying my best to be courteous.

"I'm saying maybe you don't know him as good as you think you do."

We pulled into the Whitehorse parking lot. I drove the car around to the back lot, found a spot close to the building, and shifted the car into park. And waited.

"Have you ever met the man?'

"No, but—"

"But nothing Sara! This is the same kind of crap I got from Tim in Metropolis. Why is everyone suddenly turning against me? Tell me Sara," I said abruptly. "We've known each other for three years, dated for almost that long. We've never kept any secrets from each other. Why don't you tell me what you think of him? Right now."

"Alright," she said, gathering her strength. "I think he's a bad influence. I think you should stop going to see him. Sever all ties with him."

"Honey, I love you to death, but you're making it sound like Lex is some terrible prostitute whose about to bring about the destruction of the Western World."

"Right," she said dryly. "Allen, listen to me. Refuse the scholarship money, get rid of Luthor and go on with your life."

"Refuse the money?" I asked incredulously. "That's full tuition, Sara. I can't just turn it away. I don't want to be petty like that."

"You won't be petty. You'll be generous," she confided.

"I don't know," I replied pryingly.

"Allen, for once in your life, do something bold. You're the valedictorian. You're so smart…you don't need that man or his money."

"Honey, you're starting to make sad clichés."

"Yeah, but I'm at least doing it. And I'm asking you right now. Have the balls to march into Lex's office tomorrow morning and tell him 'No thank you'."

"You know, you've always believed in me," I said. I was already feeing the urge to call Lex after graduation and tell him to stuff his money into a hair-replacement surgery.

"Ditto. Only I wish you would have more spine," she said, obviously unaware of the impact of her statement.

_What? What did she just say? Did my girlfriend, the love of my life, the girl who had given me the one thing I'd always wanted—affection—just insult me? My God, she did_. Inside my mind, the so-called bad side began taking over, saying 'Do it, Allen. After what she just did to you, you give it to her twice as hard'. The other side: 'Be subtle but severe'. Good side it was.

"What?" I asked, genuinely taken aback at the comment. Maybe she was joking, but the Sara Andrews I knew had limited sense of humor; her jokes were confined to dumb blonde fodder.

"I was just joking, Allen. Don't take it personal."

"Don't…take it…personal?" I asked, confounded and outraged at the same time.

"Allen, I—"

"Don't you realize," I said, as I pounded the dashboard. "What a gift Luthor is giving me!? The money I'm getting from Luthor is an advance on life. A life I've only ever wanted to share with—oh, guess who honey—you!" Apparently, my rage had been getting the better of me; my hand hurt, and I could see a tear stream down Sara's right cheek.

"Sara," I said, my voice suddenly relaxed. "I love you. You know that. And I know you love me too. But…I just don't get it. Why do none of you appreciate the fact that I'm trying build a life for myself?" I felt my voice rise again. I had to finish. Had to say what I wanted to say, no matter the cost.

"Oh, you're right Sara, you're absolutely right," I said, harshly sarcastic. "You've always known me better than I know myself, isn't that right? News flash, darlin'…you're not me."

"Allen…"

"You, my parents, my grandparents—all of you—seem to be forgetting what's really important here."

"And what is that, Allen?" If Sara was angry, she didn't do much of a job hiding it.

"You all may think Lex is a bad man, but that's for me to figure out," I said. "If you really loved me, you'd let me figure things out on my own instead of trying to shield me from what you think will hurt me. Stop trying to hand me the brighter side of life."

"Allen…I'm only trying to help."

"You're doing a piss-poor job so far," I said, my voice louder than expected. Sara flinched. I saw her hand slide up to the door handle. "Let me figure things out for myself, Sara. Please."

She stared past me, out the window, then abruptly opened the door, grabbed her cap and gown out of the back seat, and walked away. The sound of her heels clapping against the asphalt was like a nail being driven through my skull.

_What did I do?_ I saw nothing wrong in what I said. I said what I meant to; to Hell with being politically correct. Sara…should have had enough respect for me to know that much.


	8. The Speech

"We have not seen great things done in our time except by those who have been considered mean; the rest have failed." 

-Niccolo Machiavelli

* * *

The program, having started at seven, was slightly off-schedule. I was supposed to read my speech at or about 7: 20. I was always a perfectionist like that, but instead of 7:20, the principal gave me the thumbs-up—the signal to stand and go to the podium to read my speech—at 7:25. Damn this perfection thing.

I worked my way slowly out of the aisle, having been seated in the middle-between one fat kid and a really mean girl who wouldn't move. As soon as I stood, the crowd started cheering for me. Apparently, my reputation preceded me. I made a mental note to work that into my speech.

On my way up the steps to the podium, I looked out at the audience. My parents were sitting in the front row, my mother already clutching a Kleenex at her chest. My father had one arm firmly wrapped around my mother's shoulder. He wore a wide smile, already supremely confident in my ability to wow the crowd. But their enthusiasm wasn't what surprised me.

Next to my father sat Hope Taya, one of Luthor's bodyguards. That was…unexpected. And next to Hope…Lex.

Mercy was on his other side, acting as some kind of buffer against the rest of the spectators_. Because that's how Mercy operates—nose held higher than the LexTower itself_. She was likely within an inch of telling Lex that he should not have come.

God, I hated her. But if Lex was here, sitting on those most-uncomfortable bleachers, he must've been here for one reason only: Me. Suddenly, I felt very vindicated.

I shook my head in dismissal and reached the podium. The principal had placed the copies of the four graduation speeches under the podium, so all I had to do was reach under, pull out the manila folder, open it and start spewing empty sentiment. The basic rule of all speeches, Lex told me, is the amount of useful crap you put in there. You've got to make it sound heart-wrenching, but pointless concurrently. It was the essence of good storytelling, he said.

I cleared my head as I began my speech—all eyes in the stadium on me. Had to keep my thoughts clear and my attitude in check. _Don't choke now_, I thought.

"Ladies and Gentleman of this graduating class, members of the Board of Education, friends, family. In the immortal words of Pink Floyd I'd like to begin by saying, 'come in here, dear boy; have a cigar. You're gonna go far'."

I paused, located Luthor. He gave me a confident thumbs-up and made circular movements with his index finger, telling me to continue. So I did. "I'd like to…thank all of you for affording me this opportunity, and for that wonderful welcome as I came up here. I'm not here to spew false assumptions to you, and I'm not here to aggrandize myself either. I'm going to tell you…my vision, and how things really are. And I might make it theatric along the way."

In his seat, even from my distant vantage point, I could see Luthor crack a smile—that shrewd, devilish, reassuring smile. I continued. "I'm here because, as your valedictorian, I think I have something important to say. Take from it what you will. All I ask is that you take at least **some**thing from my little elegy." I glanced briefly at Lex, who gave me a satisfied smirk. I saw my mother shoot bewildered looks at my equally-aghast father, and then over at a thoroughly amused Luthor. I shut the manila folder; I knew what I was saying. I decided it best to maintain a somber, if not calm demeanor. If you want to get your points across, Lex told me, don't showboat.

"It doesn't matter who you dated, the grades you got on your last test, or how much the teachers loved you. What matters is you. Your struggles define you, give you humanity. When you desire, when you want, when you ache for something…that one seemingly unattainable goal…what does it all mean? You probably believe you're fighting for something—a great agenda which you hold will change the course of a mighty river perhaps. But that's a vagary."

As I asked the question, I looked over at Sara, who had taken a great interest in staring at the floor. Either subconsciously or not, she probably assumed I was talking about her.

"Right now, my fellow students, we—you and I—stand on the precipice of discovery," I said as I glanced over the crowd of students. I had every graduate riveted, and I had barely gotten to my point. "We have become the greatest this place has to offer—we have gleaned this place's soul, its life, and its very essence. From this moment on, none of us are safe. After this night, we will step off this stage, and go into the world no more ready for it than a newborn foal."

In his seat, I saw Lex shift around; he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, either by my speech, but more likely because of these terribly-constructed bleachers.

"Soon enough, we will all step into the world and no doubt think it is at our mercy. We—the strong, the able, the determined—will grab the world by the short-and-curlies. We will triumph, we will succeed, and those who know us best will sing our praises for years." I closed the folder. I didn't need prompting; I knew what the hell I was saying.

"Why is that? Can anyone answer?" I implored the audience. "The answer is simple. We will triumph because we have the will to succeed, the tools to do so. Intelligence equipped to battle the world. We will go into the world and we will triumph because we **want** to. If you want something enough, and you do what needs to be done to attain that goal, **wondrous** things can happen. I have every confidence that you all can succeed in the world, because you will do so on your own terms. No one can do your living for you; no one can do your dying for you. You are not, as some may say, a pawn in the so-called grand scheme. You are an individual. You have the will to succeed and you have the inspiration. You will not sell yourself short of personal glory, because the only type of glory you can attain is your own—no one else's. Glory given to others is not honorable, it is not sensible. If you want to attain your goal, you will toil, you will sweat, you will sacrifice, and you will come to the brink of defeat!"

Lex smiled darkly.

"And then," I said, my voice calming rapidly. "You will rise up! You will succeed and you will recognize wonderful feeling, for you have done so on your own terms. You worked for it, and you feel wonderful for doing so."

I saw my father lean back and frown, obviously dissatisfied. "One of these days," I said, conclusively. "Your life will be radically changed. You will have almost **complete control** of the situation, and you will love it. Because you believe in the primacy of your own abilities."

I waited for a reaction from the crowd. Anything. I felt like a complete tool, but at the same time, supremely assured of my own victory.

"They're gonna love you," I concluded, after a lengthy pause. Then, as if I had just given the finger to the entire audience, I walked away from the podium—to no applause. Either everyone was so austerely impressed by the speech that they were too moved to clap, or I had thoroughly pissed off everyone in the stadium. _Either way_, I thought. _I win_. The trip down the steps wasn't pleasant. I heard nothing; no applause, no whistling, no 'good job' efforts from the other graduates. And yet, as I strode past Sara, slouching lazily in her seat, an odd feeling of euphoria overcame me.

_Yes sir_, I thought to myself. _Public speaking does have its ways of removing certain…inhibitions_. I finally located my seat, crawled my way down the aisle, most graduates not bothering to move so I could pass, and sat. _Screw what these people thought of me or my speech_. In twenty short minutes, it would all be over anyway. Plus, after my…disheartening episodes with my parents and Sara concerning Luthor, I felt vindicated in saying what I did. The main point of my speech was not to condemn anyone, or make some sort of pussy-leftist stand. It was to show that I had true admiration for what Lex was doing for me. A man who gives and gives so fervently with no thought of being paid back is a true hero. Not a man who saves and saves with every thought of being a god in the eyes of those he saves. _Superman_, I thought, grumbling to myself_._

As I pondered the inflated hero they called Superman, I heard…applause somewhere to my right. But it was not a majority of the crowd, not even two people. I looked out at the bleachers, filled to capacity with friends and families of graduates, and spotted Luthor. He was standing. Alone. He was the only one in the whole stadium clapping. The sound of it echoed across the track, across the damp grass, as if it were directly channeled into my ears.

And yet…my parents sat still, not wanting to attract attention to themselves apparently. My brow furled in misunderstanding. Why were my parents not supporting their boy? Their baby boy…

I noticed the look on Lex's face; determined, proud, and yet pissed off. He looked around the stadium for just a moment, straightened his jacket, and made his way to the aisle. Before walking away, he said only one thing. He made sure to project his voice. Lex Luthor, the great orator.

"I have no idea what's going through any of your heads now, but I'm sure it must be derogatory thoughts of that boy. He told the story he set out to tell, and you did nothing short of shun him. He gave you the gift of time. The least you could do is be gracious," he said. Stern wasn't the word to describe it. He was genuinely upset. Lex slung his jacket over his shoulder and stared out among the slack-jawed onlookers judgmentally.

"Shame on you all for not being a gracious audience," he said scornfully.

Then, like a bad dream, Lex Luthor walked down the steps, his footfalls clanging harshly against the steel framework. The graduates on the field and the officials on the stage stared after him. Every eye in the stadium watched as Lex, with his bodyguards flanking him, swiftly exited the stadium.


	9. The Pits

"Therefore a wise prince ought to adopt such a course that his citizens will always in every sort and kind of circumstance have need of the state and of him, and then he will always find them faithful."

-Niccolo Machiavelli

* * *

After graduation, after the diplomas had been presented and the ceremony wrapped up, I didn't stay around for pictures. No, I got in my car and drove away from Whitehorse as fast as I could. _To Hell with those ungrateful bastards_, I thought.

When I got home, I noticed my parents hadn't come home yet. Bu there was a message on the kitchen phone's voicemail. My parents. I sighed, aggravated and pressed the 'play' button.

"Allen?" It was my father. "Allen, when you get this, I…Allen, I just want to say that…we're sorry. Your mother and I understand if you're angry. You have every right to be."

"Whatever, dad," I muttered to myself. "You didn't even clap for me—your own fucking son."

The message went on. "So, uh, if you're not at home when your mother and I get there, we'll understand." The message clicked off with a long monotone beep. I made my way up the back steps—the stairway at the back of the kitchen which led closest to my parent's bedroom. Once in their room, I sat on the bed and reached for a framed portrait of me and my parents.

"Real positive parenting, Dad. Leave me a god-damn message with an empty apology. Jesus…"

I stared at the framed picture of me and my parents—them in the background, my father's hand firmly clasped on my shoulder. Pissed off, I threw the picture on the floor, and stood. I turned to walk out, and stepped square on the glass, cracking it; the glass shards littered the carpet. I scowled, and went for the bureau on the far side of the room. My father…he kept a loaded revolver in the bottom drawer.

I fished out the gun, and went downstairs. I sat on the living room floor and stared at the gun for what seemed like an eternity. The moonlight shining in through the large bay window illuminated the barrel minimally, making visible the serial number. I felt a tear run down my face. The truth of the matter—that I had poured my heart out to the people I loved—didn't matter. What did: they couldn't even give me support.

_Bastards._

I turned the gun around so I could see down the barrel. I slouched, and ran my hand around the butt of the gun. At this close range, I could smell the cordite flooding my lungs. It was pungent, it was…inescapable. I didn't think about it—the one thing I was going to have the spine to do and I didn't think about the consequences. Maybe I was turning a page in my life, but at this point it didn't really matter.

Nothing did.

I swallowed the collected saliva in my mouth and held the gun to my temple. My right hand—the hand the gun was in—was trembling mightily. My most fervent fears aside, this was it: the reward for my years of sacrifice. Reward indeed.

"You don't want to do that," a deep voice rumbled from somewhere behind me.

It was Lex. What was he doing here? All by himself? No Hope or Mercy clawing at his heels. He removed his brown trench coat and slung it over his right forearm.

"What are you doing here?" My voice was purposely shallow, as if Lex's presence was not going to deter my choice.

"I came to check up on you."

"Yeah right," I said brusquely.

"Believe what you will, Allen. You mean…so much to me. More than you will ever know."

I yawned. "No, really. Why are you here? On your list of important business, I should be near the bottom."

"You're too modest," Lex said dotingly.

I looked over at him with a raised eyebrow and puzzled glare. "Why did you clap for me Lex? It's obvious I didn't deserve it.

"Don't dilute yourself. I did what I felt was right. I didn't do it out of mercy. Neither one of us is in that business."

"Fair enough," I said silently. "I just…thank you."

He disregarded it and went on. "I need you Allen, despite what your family might say. Bad I have an immense amount of respect for what you did up there tonight. It took courage, a trait seriously lacking in today's young people."

"Lex," I said looking up at him teary-eyed. "…you're a wonderful man."

"Thank you," Lex said plainly. In his voice, I detected a bit of expectancy, as if he knew I was going to thank him, and he just wanted to hear it to boost his own ego. "Now…put the gun down. If I'm giving you the world on a silver platter, I'd hate to throw that platter to the dogs."

I put the gun down, and turned to look at Lex, standing almost god-like over me. It was all making sense now. Lex was the only one there for me. He…cared for me.

"You…always stood up for me."

"Yes," he sad darkly. "You may have thought early on that I was just being sociable, but now, I think my goals are abundantly clear to you. You are important to me, Allen. I will do anything I can to assure your success."

Graciously, I responded, "Lex, you…you don't have to do that."

"It's no problem."

My eyes searched the darkness of the living room, and went back to the motionless revolver on the floor.

"I know this hasn't been an easy time for you Allen."

My head dropped in defeat. Inside the recesses of my brain, I could sense my willpower failing.

"You're like a son to me—family. And…if you ever need anything, give me a call."

Lex stood and went for the door. As he slid his jacket back on, he looked back at me. I had taken a great interest in the floor; I was greatly depressed by the events of the evening, and Lex's presence in my home made things…complicated.

"Think about it, Allen. I'm only a few miles away."

Then he opened the door and walked into the cool night. I walked to the door, and watched him get in his Jaguar and drive away.

I stood on my front porch for a long while after that, as if waiting for someone. Lex to return, my parents to return, it didn't matter.

Nothing did.


	10. The Dream

"A prince wishing to keep his state is very often forced to do evil."

-Niccolo Machiavelli

* * *

"Where am I?" The question was not easily answered. I was…alone. Standing in the middle of seemingly infinite blackness. I heard a voice…all around me, permeating my ears, filling my body with a feeling of dread…and curiosity.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"This place…it's familiar."

"It should be. You've spent more than your fair share of time here, my boy."

"The light…it's blinding."

"Your vision is obscured, and understandably so. You are about to see what you really don't want to. And believe me. It's gonna hurt you a lot more than it'll hurt me"

"Where am I?"

"I had hoped you would have figured that out by now."

"Tell me."

"Or what? You'll hit me? Believe me, you can't."

"I'm warning you."

"You couldn't do anything if you wanted to."

"Why am I here?"

"Not as smart as I thought you were. Sad."

"Tell me!"

"I can't answer that for you. Only you can." It couldn't…could it be him? Only he would be so brazen, but…why here—why now?

"Your voice…"

"Go on."

"I recognize it."

"You should. It's become all too common to you recently."

"Lex."

"Bingo."

"Then…this must be the LexTower," I observed as the light began to fade away. I could suddenly make out the all-too-familiar setting: Lex's office at mid-day. Not a cloud in the expansive sky behind his sprawling oak desk—just the wonderfully intricate cityscape of Metropolis.

"Two in a row. You might be brilliant after all. But to answer your question…"

"Tell me."

"In good time, my boy. But first, I want you to come here and look out this window."

I did as he said, and looked out at the sprawling city, bathed in the amber hues of the setting sun.

"This…is mine. I own this city, and someday, you will too."

I glanced at Lex, and saw him wearing a big smile. I looked out at the city again, caught between one hell of a rock and a hard place, and then back at him.

"You need not say anything," Lex said. "Your happiness is all that matters to me," the apparition said.

"No," I said grimly. "This isn't right."

"What?"

"This isn't right," I said, and threw a punch at Lex. He sidestepped it, and threw my to the ground with a well-placed kick to the ribs. He crouched next to me and whispered in my ear.

"I didn't want it to come to this. But you forced it. Now you'll have to see the ugly truth. You'll have to see me at my worst."

I closed my eyes in pain. My ribs didn't hurt from his kick, oddly enough. Still I feigned the hurt, as if such action would dissuade him. I stared at the dark green carpet which I had become familiar with in recent weeks and stayed down, hoping Lex would stop. I had to make sense of the situation. I didn't know how I got here, or why Lex was behaving so rashly. When I finally did stand, I massaged my ribs mockingly, and looked towards Lex's desk. It was empty, the broad window behind it shattered, exposing the office to the elements.

Outside, in the furious rainstorm, I could see Superman trading blows with some buffoon in hideously over-decorated armor. I couldn't make out the face for large green-colored metal panels obscured it. But…fleetingly, in the briefest flash of lightning, I saw the bald head, and feared the worst. Lex's disdain for Superman had finally come to a head, and now, the billionaire CEO was fighting the so-called Man of Steel on his own terms.

Savagely, endlessly, each man traded blows on the other. Lex's bulky green and purple armor was encased in a protective shielding, which absorbed most of Superman's blows…or threw them back at the Man of Tomorrow. I saw Superman back off, and watched Lex rocket into the sky. Superman didn't follow.

Instead, four fiery incendiaries came shooting from the storm clouds above, intent on destroying the Man of Steel. Superman held up his arm in a futile attempt to shield himself, but it was to no avail. Three rockets hit Superman square in the chest, sending him spiraling down to the streets. I watched Superman fall, and finally impact the street, causing a small rumble—but enough of one to shatter storefront windows and destroy the cement. I looked up the clouds, and saw the green armor rocket down to street level. I turned and ran for the elevator.

On street level, Superman's impact had created a crater which probably went twenty or thirty feet into the subterranean clay and muck of southern Metropolis. The rain fell in sheets over the beaten and bruised body of Earth's Greatest Hero. Standing on the edge of the crater, his arms outstretched, ready to fire their deadly beams of Kryptonite radiation, Lex Luthor stood. Hatefully staring down at an opponent who had been intrinsically easy to defeat. Six well-placed rocket blasts to the chest, each rocket tipped with traces of liquid Kryptonite, and the Man of Steel was easily despatched.

Now, Lex Luthor stood in his armor, ready to deal he death blow like a lion over a fallen gazelle.

"All men are created equal, Superman," Lex said, as he fired the first blast. "But you are not a man."

I stayed out of Lex's range, but I could see Superman start to fight back. He was…standing; repulsing the wave of Lex's radiation beams.

"No!" Lex screamed, and he intensified his blasts. "This Kryptonite radiation should have turned you into cosmic dust!" Suffering another blast, Superman fell to the ground, in a shallow puddle of blood and rainwater. Lex jumped in the crater, removed one of his purple-colored gauntlets, and felt Superman's neck.

From my vantage point, I could only see Lex standing over the beaten body of the Last Son of Krypton. I moved closer to see what Superman's fate was. Within a second, I knew. I heard a rumble from deep inside the crater, and saw a body fly out of it. I watched as a second body rocketed out and impacted the ruined street.

Defiantly, Lex hoisted the body of Superman above his head. Smiling wickedly, his eyes burning green with delusional stupor, Lex cackled savagely.

"I have done it! The Man of Steel is dead!"

He laughed haughtily again, turned to the LexTower, and threw the dead corpus of Superman into it. Lex's strength was what amazed me. He turned to the building closest to him—the LexTower itself—and hurled Superman's body so hard and so fast that it shattered the cornerstone and destroyed a major part of the side of the building. A rumble started emanating from the dying building, and I watched the stonework start to crack and break away from the main structure. The LexTower was coming down.

It collapsed in on itself, burying the body of Superman with it. When the dust cleared, among the driving rain, Lex was standing messianically at the apex of the flaming rubble, his hands outstretched to the sky, and his demonic laugh echoing over the whole of Metropolis.

With Lex's laughter ringing disturbingly in my ears, I shot up in a cold sweat. I found myself on the living room floor, all alone. _Was it all a terrible nightmare? No, that's not possible. I'm 17 God-damn years old; I don't' have nightmares. _But…if it was, it was sure as Hell a frightening vision of Lex's power. In that armor…God, he looked unstoppable. _Kryptonite…was that what Lex said_? Kryptonite. I would be sure to ask Lex what, if anything, he knew about Kryptonite when I saw him next.

Hastily, I ran upstairs. I had fallen asleep, unaware that I was still wearing my dress clothes from graduation. I ran into my room, tossed my dress clothes on the floor neglectfully, and pulled on my _Aerosmith_ t-shirt and khaki shorts. I slid on my sandals and ran back down to the kitchen.

I reached for the portable phone, on the kitchen counter, and dialed Sara's number. Sara Andrews—my girlfriend—the girl who had harangued me and questioned my very thought process when Lex Luthor cam into my life two weeks ago. Was it two weeks? It seemed so much shorter—true they say, time does fly when you have fun.

On our way to graduation, Sara and I had haphazardly started talking about Lex. She tried to tell me that he was a bad man; I saw no such proof, and told her that I should be able to figure out such things on my own. I didn't want—or need—anyone's help in figuring out who this man was, or what he wanted with me. And yet…there was something inside me that said Sara would always be there for me.

I dialed her number, and waited for…someone to answer. Finally, after a seemingly agonizing three minutes, someone on the other end picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" the voice asked groggily.

"Yeah, hi, this is Allen O'Neill. I'm calling for Sara."

"This is she," the voice said.

"Oh, Sara. Thank God you're up—"

"Yeah…I was having a good night's sleep. Strange how that works."

"Right…anyway, I need to talk to you about something," I responded pressingly.

"Lemme guess. You had nightmare and you wanna talk it over."

Caught with my proverbial pants down, I cleared my throat, dismissing her, and said, "No…I just, uh…need to talk to you about something."

"Fine," she said wearily. "I'll be here…whenever you decided to show up."

"Great. See you in a few," I concluded, and set the phone back on the table. I grabbed my keys and jolted out the front door.


	11. The Counsel

"Good counsels, whencesoever they come, are born of the wisdom of the prince and not the wisdom of the prince from good counsels." 

--Niccolo Machiavelli

* * *

Inside ten minutes, I saw Sara's house getting bigger in the distance. Once parked and out of the car, I went for the front porch, where I saw Sara sitting, curled up to stay warm, in the wicker chair by the front door. I slowed my pace, slid my keys into my pants pocket, and stepped up onto the porch.

"Hi Sara," I said tentatively.

"Hey, Allen. What is it that couldn't wait until morning?"

"I need to talk to you."

"We've established that," she said pompously.

"I…had a nightmare, Sara," I admitted. It was one of the harder things I've ever had to do in my life. Ever.

"And now you need a shoulder to cry on," she said dismissively.

"Not exactly," I responded. "It was about…Luthor."

"What a shock," she said, sardonically.

"Come on. This is serious."

"I'm sure it is," she said mockingly. "But what makes you think I know anything about nightmares, ghosts and goblins? I didn't exactly study at the Max Schreck School of pissing yourself."

"I know you don't. But I'm just asking. I need…"

"What?" She asked impatiently.

"I need help. I can't escape thinking that…maybe you, Tim, my parents…you're all right about Luthor. Maybe he is bad."

"So, that's what this is. You've finally come around, and now you want to sort it out. I'll wait while you swallow your pride."

"Shut up! I'm new to this."

She narrowed her gaze, leaned back and said, "Alright, Allen. What is it?"

"This dream…it was…like nothing I've ever seen."

"Most dreams are," she countered.

"I was…at the LexTower, and Lex was in his office talking to me. He punched me for some reason and I fell to the floor. When I got up, he was gone. I went to the window, and saw him fighting Superman."

"Luthor against Superman? That seems incongruent, Allen. Superman could squash your golf buddy like a bug."

"That's the thing," I exclaimed. "He was wearing this bulky type of armor that protected him! He was fighting Superman, and winning!"

"Okay…" Sara said uncomprehendingly.

"Next thing I know, Superman's on the ground at Lex's feet. Dead."

"So what," Sara said, unconvinced. "Lex and Superman have the big dukaroo inside your skull. What does it all mean?"

"That," I said. "is what I came here for."

"I told you, Al. I'm no authority on dreams. You're gonna hafta do a lot better." She was trying to be playful with me. Trying to use humor to lighten my mood. So far, it wasn't working.

"Jesus," I whispered dejectedly. Was I taking this too seriously? I didn't think so.

"Allen," Sara said, suddenly concerned about me. "What is it you're so worried about?"

"Lex," I said weakly. "You should have seen it. In that…that armor. He looked unstoppable. And the look in his eyes. Those…horrible green eyes."

"I think I get it," Sara said, standing and looking out at her front yard. "For once in your life, you're scared. You're out of your league."

"I've been scared before, Sara. The difference here is…I don't know what to do about it." I tried to maintain my composure. So far, like Sara's humor, it wasn't working.

Sara went on: "Allen, I've known you too long to be this frightened about something that didn't really happen in the real world. I mean, sure it would be different if Lex actually showed up here in this armor you describe and shot up the place. But it's…**unlikely** that he'll jump out of your dream and rip your arms off."

I looked up at Sara, almost apologetically. Her hair lifted off her shoulders in the oncoming breeze. In the diminishing moonlight, I could barely make out her face, but what I saw was still as beautiful as anything.

"Lex killed Superman, Sara," I said darkly. "He's just a normal schlubs like you or me. If he can kill Superman…where does that leave the rest of us?"

Sara stood, stretched, and faced me. "Allen," she said. "I think you're overlooking the obvious."

"What's that?"

"That it's a God-damned **dream!**"

I leaned back in dejection and stared at the ground in front of me. "Fat lotta help that was."

"Allen…"

"No, I get it. I come over here and pour my heart out and here we go…on the same damn rollercoaster we've **always** been on." _And here it is, ladies and gentlemen, as promised. The emotional rollercoaster checks in. On time as usual._

"That's not—"

"Fair? Let me tell you what's 'fair': Lex. A man who understands me and is always willing to listen. Something I think my **friends** and **family** haven't been doing **too much** of lately!

"Allen, I'm only trying to make the situation sensible."

"Then take my word for it and try to help me out, at the very fucking least! Jesus, you've always been like this: trying to rain on my God-damn parade."

"Allen O'Neill!" she exclaimed. "I **am** trying to help you, but if you can't see that…"

I stood and slid my hand into my pocket, reaching for my keys.

"Maybe it's time you leave. For good."

"Fine," I said. I pulled my keys out and went to my car. Before I backed out of the driveway and drove off, I noticed Sara. Still standing on the porch, she was…watching me leave. Watching me walk out of her life with a tissue held loosely over her nose, drying her tears. I gazed at her thoughtfully, then shifted the car into drive, and pulled away.

"That's the last time I ever ask you for help," I muttered as the car lurched into the night.


	12. The Billionaire

Another visit to the LexTower. Allen's attitude shifts from whiny to supremely confident.

How will Luthor react?

* * *

I went to the LexTower three days later, at six in the evening.

I greeted the security guards curtly. In my time with Lex, I had become something of a myth to the building as a whole. Most of the "Team Luthor" guards knew me by my first name, and were unusually nice to me—which didn't bother me.

In the past 18 days—ever since I'd met Luthor—things were really turning up roses for me, all things considered. Everything except what really mattered.

Family…and those people I cared about.

And so went my thoughts of the morning, as the express elevator to Lex's office roared up the interior of the LexTower. Lex himself had given me a special access card to all parts of the building, except one of the sub-basements. Oddly enough, Lex had made me privy to a number of things about him and his business in the past weeks, but the mysterious subbasement remained unassigned on my list of places I could go.

Not that there was much down there anyway. The Research and Development labs were on the other end of town, and the testing labs and aerospace divisions across the river in Queensland Park. Sure I wasn't really on the official payroll, but with Lex paying me under the table for being his unofficial "runner", I was free to roam the building at my leisure.

Funny to think the events of the past few days hadn't affected my views. In all seriousness, Sara was right. In typical Allen fashion, I was overthinking it. It was a freaking dream, no biggie. In any case, I wondered if it was true what they said—dreams are a window to the past, or a glimpse of the future.

The elevator came to a stop, the doors slid open, and I stepped out into the top floor of the LexCorp Corporate Headquarters.

Confident, arrogant, elated…however you wished to view me I was extremely pleased with myself for unknown reasons. It was one of those strange mysteries of human chemistry—one minute you're bristling angry, the next you're fit as a fiddle—if I might dust off an old chestnut.

I strode briskly out of the elevator, walked up to the glass double-doors leading to Lex's office and pushed one through, leading me into the cavernous office with which I had become so familiar. Lex wasn't there. Odd, but not cause of worry, I thought as I loomed out at the gaping cityscape. Through the northern wall, which wasn't really a wall, a helicopter was landing on top of the Galaxy Communications Building. I watched it unload four passengers—it was a long distance, even from this high vantage point—and then lift off into the sky. The northern wall, behind Lex's sprawling oak desk, was made of connected panels of glass, each one ten feet by ten feet. To my left, Lex's liquor cabinet stood against the west wall. I stepped across the plush dark green carpet and sat in one of the leather chairs in front of Lex's desk. And there, I waited.

I glanced at my watch only briefly, not checking really to see what time it was. It…wasn't like Lex to be late. But then again, I didn't schedule a meeting. I more or less followed my own schedule. Such was the mantra of a young teenager ready to grab the world by the balls.

I heard a familiar whoosh behind me, and turned to see Lex push one of the doors open from his private washroom. Hope walked behind him, on his left side, and when he extended his right hand behind him, she supplied the billionaire with a hand towel. Lex wiped his hands briskly and got to his desk. It didn't strike me as odd that Hope accompanied Luthor into the washroom. I had spent enough time around this place in the past 18 days to know that Lex makes it clear Hope and Mercy work for him. I was no moron, though. The sexual tension between the three of them—Lex, Hope and Mercy—could be cut with a razor, but Lex sublimated his thoughts on the matter by playing the strict boss card which had made him famous.

"Allen, how are you?" He asked, seemingly elated.

"Fine, Lex. You?"

"Oh," he said slowly as he handed the towel back to Hope. "I'm fine."

"Good."

"Yes, indeed," he said as Hope approached with a cigar humidor. She lifted the lid, and let Lex select one. He chose a long, brown one from the center and put in between his lips. Hope cut it, and provided a light as Lex pushed the humidor to me.

"H. Upmann. Fine cigar."

I cocked my head curiously at the open humidor, and lifted one out. "I'll take my chances."

"Good boy," Lex said as his bodyguard stepped away. "Hope, my stack of papers please."

Hope approached with a stack of manila folders and set it on the desk on front of Lex.

"That'll be all," he said to his bodyguard, who was already on her way out. "You know," Lex said as he regarded the now-shut humidor on his desk. "That cost me four hundred dollars. I bought it from Castro, on one of my vacations to Havana."

"Isn't that illegal? Going to Cuba."

"Hardly, although the Justice Department advises against such action," Lex responded as he looked past me. "The government can't tell me where to go or not go—they just recommend that I protect myself. And that…is no problem."

"Oh yeah," I said. "I believe it."

Lex laughed heartily and puffed on the cigar. "So," he said as he stubbed it out. "What brings you to the LexTower? Here to discuss your little crisis at graduation the other night?"

"No. I, uh…worked it out."

"Good," Lex said, pleased. "I did hate to make a scene."

"It's okay," I murmured.

"It's…difficult," Lex proffered. "It hurts to feel helpless, useless. Like you were."

"You always **were** there for me, you know," I said stoically. "I wasn't ashamed that you did what you did. You felt it necessary. You've always been stand-up like that, you know."

"Yes…I **do** know."

Lex stared at me…dare I say, almost affectionately. Then he looked away absent-mindedly, lighting another cigar, and turned back to me. I figured I might as well say something—anything to lighten the mood. The tension in Lex's office was…tougher than nails.

"Lex…I'd like to repay my debt. Any way I can." My voice was nervously rushed. I wanted to say something gratuitous to Lex, to let him know his good deed hadn't gone unrewarded, but some part of my subconscious—the part that rushed my speech—was trying to claim superiority.

"I've told you before Allen," Lex said in the tone of a father talking to a six year-old. "You don't need to repay anything. Your happiness is all that matters to me."

"I know, but…Thank you, Lex," I said, heartfelt. He was filling out some kind of requisition form, but stopped when I said my thanks. He looked up at me with a smile and that certain gleam in his eye.

"I do what I can," he whispered politely. Then, he spoke normally and went back to filling out his papers. "So…what brings you here?"

"Oh, nothing. Just…developed a case of Cabin Fever and needed to break out of it

"Fair enough," he said dismissively. "Can I interest you in some Scotch? It's vintage 1940. Straight from the good graces of Loch Ness. The cabinet is unlocked."

"Well…" I said apprehensively. I considered my options for a moment. _Screw it_ "What the hell…it's been a long few days."

I went to the liquor cabinet and removed the bottle of Scotch, poured a small glass half-full and started drinking. My mistake…I took in too much the first time; almost spewed most of it onto the carpet. Hastily trying to cover my mistake, I downed the whole glass. My throat burned. Lex may have liked it but I cared little for Scotch or any alcohol.

I capped the bottle, put it back in the cabinet, and turned to Lex.

"Not a fan?"

"No," I said returning to the desk. "No we are not."

"That's alright. Scotch is something of an **acquired** taste," Lex said, chuckling at his own sense of humor. He scrawled something hastily, and looked up with a warm smile.  
"So, what are your plans for the evening Allen? Something light and fanciful with the other half?"

"Other…half?" I had never heard that term before.

"Your girlfriend. Tell me there will someday be a Mrs. Allen O'Neill, right?"

"Oh...yeah…sure," I said wearily. My gaze went from Lex to the floor.

"Allen," Lex said through a narrowed gaze. "I sense…unrest. Trouble with the so-named other half?"

"Well, to put it lightly, Lex. Yes," I said. That must've surprised him, because I saw an eyebrow rise. _Yep_, I thought, _you threw him for a loop there, Allen_. Lex cocked his head and implored me.

"If I may…?"

"What?" I asked blankly.

"Does this girlfriend have a name?"

"Sara Andrews."

"Andrews," Lex said quizzically, as if trying to recall the name from the vastness of his understanding. "Is she pretty?"

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"And…?"

"But recently, well, since I told her about you…she's not been too receptive."

"Ah," Lex said, sitting back and tenting his fingers. "Is this like your mother?"

"Hardly," I said. "Sara's taken the more proactive approach to your influence. She says you're a bad man…that I shouldn't associate with you."

"Maybe this girl isn't seeing all aspects of the picture. Mountains and molehills, you know," Lex said jokingly.

"I'm telling you what she told me. She doesn't want me seeing you anymore. Which I think is total crap," I said truthfully.

"Allen," Lex said, standing. "It's quite interesting, you know. Most people think of me as some kind of untouchable god. Sitting up here, on my Olympus of glass and steel, looking down on them with deceit and loathing. And I'm partially inclined to agree."

I looked up at him with surprised eyes, and managed a chuckle. "Isn't that a little…extreme?"

"Not really," he said snidely. "Most people will never know anything beyond what they see with their own eyes. That's the great failure of humankind, Allen. So engrained are we in our ways that we can hardly take a moment to open the door and let some fresh air in."

Lex turned to face me, puts his hands on the desk and focused his weight on them. As he spoke I observed the broad, tapered shape of his hands, how the veins stood out underneath the skin like snaking fleshy sewer pipes, and the orientation of the barely-noticeable red hairs. In the middle of my analysis, I suddenly picked up on what he was saying: "My point is those people are wrong. You see Allen, I'm not…so bad. Once you get to know me."

Lex approached me, dropped to one knee and looked me in the eye. I could see straight into his piercing green glare. I shuddered, but tried to keep it reserved.

"Allen," Lex said softly. "I solved the situation with your mother. Let me talk to this Sara and see what comes of it."

"No, that's alright. You don't have to," I said hastily.

"It's no problem. I'll make some calls."

"Lex—"

"Now," he said, standing abruptly. "I've got some errands to run."

"But—" I tried to say something. I wanted to talk more about it, but Lex had places to go. I understood. Sure he was a busy man, and I respected that.

Lex went to his phone and pressed the call button. "Hope," he said brusquely into the speaker.

Over the line came her voice, smooth and serene. "Yes, Lex?"

"Call the Daily Planet. Make sure Lois is ready to go." Lex turned to me and winked. "Dinner for two. Turner's Steakhouse. Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes, sir. Got it."

Lex hung the phone back on the hook, not bothering with social niceties. I felt the muscles in my neck tense up for just a moment. Lex certainly did have a lot of control over his subjects. Certainly, there was a part of me hat feared that control—feared what he would say and do to me were I in the same position as Hope or Mercy. Yet, another part of me had a certain…hankering for the control factor. Strength was relative—fleeting, but power—in its many forms, was enticing. Lex turned back to me and straightened his tie.

"Steakhouse?" I asked. "Hardly the cuisine of a billionaire."

"I may be a billionaire, Allen, but there are certain things I find it asinine to spend too much money on."

_Yes sir, Lex Luthor the realist._

Lex straightened his jacket and headed for the door.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, this is one dinner date I'd like to keep."

"Oh, then I'll take off," I said graciously.

"It's not necessary," Lex said, his mouth curving into a grin, with a childlike gleam in his eyes. "Just lock up when you're finished. The washroom is behind those double doors behind you."

With that, Lex handed me his keys.

"But…the door was unlocked," I said perplexedly.

"I know. Those keys are for my car. You can take it home if you like. It's in the parking complex underneath the building. Green Jaguar, spot A-6. Since Hope and Mercy will be accompanying me, you can take the Jag home. I'll have my men pick it up tomorrow."

"Wow," I said, astounded. "Thank you, Lex. Thank you, thank you."

"Don't mention it," he said with a smile. Lex mock-saluted, turned and walked out the doors. I watched him go, and threw the keys on the desk. I turned and stared out the window at the sprawling cityscape before me for a long while. Then I decided I would check out the Executive Washroom, located on the far side of the room, next to the double-doors leading into the office.

The Washroom was nice, perhaps nicer than the washroom in the Tower Suite a few stories below me. A set of ebony double-doors led into a small anteroom with retro-esque metal chairs, and a magazine rack or two; it looked more like a waiting room than anything, but its true function was a sort of buffer between the office proper and the washroom.

The floor was tiled in small, inch-wide white tiles. In the center of the room, in black tiles, was an ornately designed capital letter L which served as a focal point. The pedestal sink, off to my left, was activated by motion sensors, and the mirror on the wall had built-in lights which illuminated the glass when an approaching body tripped more motion sensors.

The light itself was provided by a lush mock-crystal chandelier twenty feet above the floor. Painted on the vaulted ceiling was a replica of a section of the Sistine Chapel ceiling—God reaching out to Man. _Odd_, I thought. _Lex isn't an overtly religious man_. Opposite the pedestal sink was a narrow, shuddered door that led to a small lavatory. Like the sink, the toilet was controlled by motion sensors. To the right of the lavatory—my left—stood a tall, tubular shower fixture which, instead of conventional curtains (God, my house was behind the times) used a revolving glass door which pulled on ball-bearing runners, around from the back to cover the front part of the shower…and the person inside. The whole layout reminded me of…my earlier years—uneventful years at best—and the tubes my mother would put her paycheck in at the bank drive-through; the tubes that zipped through the ductwork and dropped your money off so the nice lady could cash it and give you that richly-deserved lollipop.

I could've gone for a lollipop.

* * *

Author's Note: It may be clear at this point in the story, that I have not placed Luthor on the plateau of Untouchable Golden Boy Who Gets Whatever He Wants. Rather, I've tried in small portions, to make him, dare I say, Human. He doesn't like spending money when he doesn't have to, but he'll gladly do it if the situation calls.


	13. The Shower

Another unexpected visit...and greater besides

* * *

Again feeling the same 'I deserve this' kind of…euphoria sweeping over me, I decided I would test out the shower. Next to the shower was a single door, which led into a dressing room. I stepped in, and grabbed a towel. I stripped down, slung the towel around my waist, and started the shower.

About halfway through my shower, I heard the door creak open. Immediately, instinctively, I froze. had run the towel through the metal pull-handle outside on the door, so there was no chance of getting to it to cover myself without exposing, well…myself. There I was, caught with not only my proverbial pants down, but everything gone, literally stripped from me. I stopped moving, faced the tiled interior back wall of the tubular shower, and waited for this unknown to say something. As luck would have it, the water was just hot enough to generate an acceptable amount of steam which snaked around the floor likes snowdrifts, and coated the glass door sufficiently enough to blur the view.

"Allen O'Neill," the voice said in a mockingly ominous tone.

It may have been my inherent fear factor that made my brain register his voice as that of an angel of death, but that was not true. When my brain finally placed his voice, I shut off the shower and listened for more. It was then that I realized this guy was probably staring at my bare ass, waiting for me to do God-knows-what.

I didn't want to look like a complete idiot at this point, though it was hard not to.

"What?" I asked, still facing the tiled interior. _Idiot_, I recriminated myself.

"You can relax," the voice told me.

"That's hardly comforting," I said.

"Fair enough," it said. Then things got silent. I slid the door back enough to slide a hand out, reached blindly behind me for the towel. I finally got it, wrapped it around my waist, and stepped out of the shower to see the source of the voice sitting on the edge of the sink.

I had heard of this…boy before. He was a sidekick to the Batman, a vigilante working out of Gotham City. But I read something about him dying a few years back. Killed in the line of duty in…Qurac was it? But that one…he was later outed as Jason Todd, some immature punk from Gotham's answer to Suicide Slum—Crime Alley.

So this kid wasn't Todd. Nope. For one thing, his costume was a little less…fantastical than Todd's. Todd had those obnoxiously outdated pixie shoes and scant-covering green underwear. _Gay_, I thought dryly. _This one couldn't be **much** further off the radar._

This one…he had a black cape which draped over his red…tunic, if it was called that, and flowed at his feet. Even in this bright washroom. This…this was Robin. The Boy Wonder. Slightly more impressive than Superman.

"Do you know who I am?" Robin asked.

He asked the wrong question. My reporter's instinct, combined with uncanny powers of observation, searched through ever corner of my brain. It didn't take long to figure out 'who he was'. The black hair, mussed up at the top, the sideburns which came to broad tips at the curvature of his jaw. The straight jaw line and the hints of stubble around his chin. The burning brown eyes.

Tim Drake. Part of me was genuinely surprised. _What kind of world is it, where your best friend flies around at __midnight__?_ Another part of me was less than impressed; looking at this phony trying desperately to display the same false heroics as Superman.

"Sure," I said, awfully confident for a man wearing nothing but a towel. "But you can take off the mask…" I hesitated. I felt oddly entitled to my enjoyment. "…Tim."

"How did you know," he said unmoved.

"The eyes," I said, tapping my forehead lightly. "Always the eyes." I pressed on; my brain was already filling with hundreds of questions. "So," I said, crossing my arms. "**This** is how you found out about Lex's science projects."

The Boy Wonder remained silent as I went into the dressing room. I kept the door opened so I could talk to him, as much as I just wanted to throw him out of the building. _You think you know a guy, and then he's dressing up like Elton John's back-up._

"I have to say," I said, as I dropped my towel. "You're tough. For a one-man gay pride parade." I had to maintain a view of myself that made me seem confident; not concerned what Tim thought of me. I half expected him to rear his ugly side and start pummeling the helpless naked kid. _Funny_.

Privately, though, I was on uneasy footing. Sure, I was really freaking self-conscious, and who wouldn't be if they were standing naked facing an 'Urban Legend'—much less your best friend. Chances were, I suspected, he clandestinely was checking me out; aside from being self-conscious, I was also self-righteous—and it's good to have a healthy view of yourself, even if it is at another's expense. If Tim was like any guy—nay, any respectable human—he would turn around and let me have my dignity. But no, The 'Boy Wonder' was too good for that.

"You **know** why I'm here, Allen," he said gruffly.

I pulled on my boxers, and went for my denims. "I have a pretty good idea," I said mockingly. I knew perfectly well why he was here: he came to talk about Lex. But if I wanted to keep the upper-hand, I knew I couldn't show any weakness. That included whatever emotions I had about Lex…and that was very complicated at the moment.

"Luthor," Tim uttered coldly.

"Haven't we been down that road once before?" I asked brusquely, waiting for a response from the reserved Teen Wonder. I pulled on my denims and followed up.

"Well…what do you want to talk about this time? How he's leading me down an irreversible path? How he makes 'deals with the Devil' and drops pennies from the top of the building just for laughs? How he **bankrupted** Morgan Edge with a phone call and played **Bridge** with the Joker and the Mirror Master in Hell? But really, Tim, why stop there? I suppose next you're gonna tell me that he's put every hair plug restoration clinic in town out of business because of wounded pride."

"You're so predictable, Allen," Tim said scornfully. I narrowed my gaze and shifted my whole focus on Tim. "Like an open book! Deep down, there's some part of you that believes me. That I'm right and you're wrong. That Luthor is slowly morphing you into one of his little soldiers. You say your parents aren't on your side, that no one believes you. Maybe it's time you start believing them."

"Easy 'trigger'," I said darkly. "You don't know what you're saying, and you don't know Luthor like I do."

"No, I know the true Lex Luthor, Allen. But since your point of view is so rigidly imbedded in your mind, I see there's no way I can convince you."

Tim was trying to goad me into conflict. _Screw that_, I thought. I decided to put on my reserved-yet-angry face.

"This is hardly the crisis situation you imagine," I said spitefully, as I pulled on my red ringer. "Lex has provided me a service out of the goodness of his heart. I'm just repaying the gratitude."

"Admirable," Tim said. "But how far will this repayment go? You must know that something bad is coming, and when it does, Lex won't be honoring his deals with anyone."

"Wrong," I said dismissively. "We're hardly father and son, but Lex does for me what so few people have over the last couple years."

"And what's that?" Tim asked annoyingly.

"He makes me feel appreciated, needed. Dare I say, even, loved?" I had long ago come to the conclusion that Lex and I were probably closer than either would admit. In a dozen lifetimes.

The truth was: I owed much to Luthor...to rat him out would be more immoral than staying under his wing.

A pause. I snapped my watch on my wrist. Tim glanced at the floor. I could tell that this little tête-à-tête was eating him alive; I could see his jaw muscles clenching in wretched defeat.

"You're so deluded to the point that you have all these crazy conspiracy theories about Lex, when you don't know who he really is," I chided. "You just don't understand it, do you? You don't understand why the world passed you by, and why I jumped on the wagon at the opportune time."

"That's not—"

"What, Tim?" I interjected. "That's not true? God, you're just like Sara. She couldn't take it either, you know. Neither one of you can stand the fact that I'm trying to do for myself what you've both been so successful at."

"And what's that Allen?" Tim asked angrily.

"I'm building a life here. And Lex is a part of it. A big part, yes. Potentially dangerous—maybe. In any event, my point stands. So run back home and pretend you're making a difference. Because you're certainly not doing it here."

I instantly recognized my mistake. I was too close to Tim. With his right hand, he reached out, throttled me, and threw me on the floor. He threw his arm back and delivered a mean right hook, loosening some teeth, and then a left, sending some blood across the tiled floor. The so-called Boy Wonder crouched over me, bore his knee into my chest, and spoke savagely to me. I could feel his hot, rotting breath, and the spit flicking form his lips littered my face.

"Listen, Allen," he said hatefully. "We both know your little infatuation with Luthor is bound to be short-lived. Whatever power fantasies you **think** you're living out here are **games**. Luthor's been playing this city like a harp for twelve **God-damn** years and I pity **you** if you can't see it."

He hoisted me up and threw me against a wall. He grabbed my shirt and lifted me above his own height. I could taste the warm blood filling my mouth, leaking from the corners, spattering on my shirt. In my mind, I was already formulating excuses; but not that it mattered. I hadn't spoken to my parents in three days. My mind shifted back to the present, to Tim. He was…talking at great length. In my mind, his words jumble together into incoherent jargon. Lex…Sara…my parents…Gotham…the Batman…

_Wait_. My brain played rewind, went back to Sara. How did Tim know about Sara? I had never told him; I'd barely seen him in the past 18 months. How?

"Listen, Allen," Tim said, his words clear to me again. "I'm your friend. I want to help you."

I rolled my eyes, and worked up a mixture of spit and blood. Readying myself, I let it go quickly on Tim's face. I did a pretty good job too. The blood hit him right in the eyes—gave him enough distraction to let me go. I fell to my knees, wiped the blood from my mouth and stared up at Tim with loathing. He struggled to wipe the blood from his mask. From where he had me pinned on the wall, I could tell he had some type of lenses in his scantly covering mask which probably augmented his vision. _Probably gave him x-ray vision like Superman_, I thought hatefully. I stood and cracked my knuckles as Tim worked his mask free of the blood.

Clenching my teeth, I raised my hands, brought them together, and rammed them down on Tim's shoulders in an axe-handle. He fell to the floor as I went to the door and pushed it open.

"Leave. Before I call Lex."

Tim stood, straightened himself, and draped his cape over his shoulders giving him that gothic Max Schreck look. He looked up at me through penetrating eyes. For a moment, I thought I almost saw a tear stream down his face. A perverse glee overtook me.

I pursed my lips and looked at Tim, in his Boy Wonder get-up. He went to the window and opened it, but didn't jump out into the night. Instead, he turned back to me.

"By the way," I said blankly, inspecting my fingernails. "Thanks."

"For what?" He responded dismissively.

"I wasn't sure it was actually you. Under that mask."

Tim Drake turned back to me, smiled demurely and dove out the window. I ran after him, to see where he went. But as I stared out the window at the cool Metropolis evening, I saw nothing. Tim had vanished. Utterly.

He always had a way of getting the final word.


	14. The Crisis

Allen's little crisis of conscience

* * *

Rage, anger, hatred. An overflowing cistern of hate-filled emotions overtook my mind. Yes…I was pissed off, that was it exactly.

No other phrase could appropriately convey the sense of anger and rage I was feeling at that moment. _Allen O'Neill doesn't need pity from some moron wearing the God-damn Technicolor dream coat. God damn you, Tim Drake. You narrow-minded asshole. _Pissed off that some punk could just trounce in on me when I was at my weakest and think he owned me. I was nobody's puppet, and I damn sure wasn't falling prey to Tim's little mind assault. I might not have been able to rat out Lex, but…you think you know a guy…and he walks all over you. Tim. Poor boy. So totally convinced of Luthor's noxious evil.

Yeah…right. Noxious indeed.

"Burst in on **me, **will you?" I yelled into the silence of Lex's office. "Push my buttons just to see how far I can go?"

I went to Lex's desk, ripped the Jaguar keys off the top, and stormed out of the building. "No one does this to me. **No one!**" I yelled as I kicked open one of the glass doors. No one tells me—Allen O'Neill—how to live my God-damn life.

And it was the truth—I am Allen fucking O'Neill, class valedictorian, smartest man at Whitehorse High. Personal assistant and confidant of Lex Luthor, the man who owns Metropolis. I could expose Tim's dirty little secret—with such minimal prompting.

All it took….was decisiveness. It was decisiveness that had brought me into Luthor's auspices to begin with, and it was decisiveness that was leading me to my next make-or-break effort in my relationship with Luthor.

I was going to tell them what I thought of Luthor. I was going to lay everything out on the table. My parents—God willing—would see what I was trying to do. And I hoped they would respect my wishes. In spite of all they'd done for me over the years, the business with Luthor was not easily overlooked. Plain and simple, my parents had jointly shaken my faith in them. Whether they knew it or not—though I suspected they were smarter than I credited them for—they were successfully driving me to the conclusion that I would be better off living…someplace else.

In five minutes, I had found the parking complex, and Lex's vintage-1965 Jaguar. I jumped in the Jag, and rammed the key into the ignition_. Can't be good for the steering column, but fuck it._ I shifted it into drive, and roared out of the complex, not bothering to wave to the night security guard.

Being in the personal car of the Richest Man in Metropolis certainly had its perks. The license plate read "LEX 1". When—**if**—the police would see it (because that's how Metropolis Police work, always on the prowl), they would certainly think twice about pulling over the most powerful man in town. _The man who could buy and sell their sorry asses._

For the first time in my life, obviously uncaring for the world around me, I felt compelled to step out of my little shell and take risks. I ran several red lights. As I made my way onto the Stern Bypass to go home, I found myself zigzagging around traffic. In the superior Jag, it seemed like the other cars on the road were…moving in incredibly-slow motion. I was running ahead of myself—overthinking the situation—as usual. I fishtailed the Jag off the exit ramp and onto one of the back roads.

Yes, I was going to sort it out. I was going to bring it to an end. This tiptoeing around my…connections to Luthor was antiquated. The laundry had to be aired, yes. My parents thought I was crazy for associating with him. My girlfriend thought I was being…irrational at best. My best friend thought I was walking down an irreversible path.

Screw them. Screw all of them. My own decisions influence my life—no one else's. I decide my fate—not some sanctimonious superhero wannabe who wears the Elton John costume rejects.

_Damn you, Tim_. _Damn you for making it come to this_. _And yet…these thoughts._ _They're not…rational. They're emotional. What's happening to me? What am I doing?_

_"You're doing what you must."_

_No…you're being reckless--impulsive. Calm down._

_"You know well enough that sometimes you must get your hands dirty. Do what needs to be done. Tell them the way it is."_

_Tell them…the truth._

_"You tried your best, they wouldn't hear it. Now it's down to this. Tell them what you only wish you could. Tell them what you really want to. Tell them…that they've been replaced. By a more compassionate incarnation."_

_Do what you must…to make the problem disappear._

_"Do it, Allen. Do it for me."_

_Do it for the right reason._

_"Be a man."_

_Be strong._

_"Be a Luthor.

* * *

_ Author's Note: I decided to shorten this chapter up; it was originally this length--short on its own--without the addition of Lex, who is instead placed as a sort of extranormal power on Allen's mindset. Just goes to show how much seemingly-superficial relations with Luthor are really messing with Allen. 


	15. The Choice

Author's Note: After a long hiatus in which the wonderful people at were busy updating their site, I've put the finishing touches on the story. But don't worry, Constant Reader. This is only the beginning. At the instigation of some crucial parties, I've decided to follow-up on Allen O'Neill. But with college on the encroaching horizon, that seems distant. For now, anyway.

* * *

"And a prince ought, above all things, always to endeavor in every action to gain for himself the reputation of being a great and remarkable man."

-Niccolo Machiavelli

* * *

I pulled the Jag into my driveway, parked it, and slammed the door on my way out. I set the alarm—the neighbors, much less my own family—couldn't be trusted. At this late point in the game, no one could.

With a weary sigh, I pushed the front door open. Odd as it was that my parents didn't lock it, it was even odder that, upon my entry, I found the lights in the front room were off—for the most part. Only a single halogen lamp in the corner provided enough light to barely illuminate the room. I slid the keys into my front pocket and stared blankly at my parents. Both of them. Together. Arms wrapped around each other, my mother and father were seated on the edge of the brickwork of the fireplace. My father looked up to me through cold, piercing eyes.

"Allen," he wheezed.

"What is it?" I asked. Suddenly, I felt a sense of impending doom.

"There's someone here to see you," my mother said, equally quiet.

"Where is he?" I asked. Already I had a sense of who had come to see me. The only person who actually cared about me in recent days.

My father replied lazily, "He's in the kitchen. Come on."

My father led me into the kitchen, switching on the fluorescent light over the range as he went.

And sitting almost messianically behind the kitchen table across the expanse of the room in the breakfast nook, was Lex.

His bulky brown overcoat and white scarf made him seem ungainly in the chair, ready to either fall out of it or break it at a moment's notice. Between his thumb and forefinger, he held a cigar delicately. Puffing on it, he waved cordially with his free hand.

"Hello, Allen."

I turned back to my father, looking for an explanation. "I'll leave you two alone," he said. So much for that.

I watched him go, and turned back to Lex. I was…astonished that he was here, in my home. Of course, he had been here before. But this time, his visit seemed a little more…penultimate? As if he had not quite divulged his true intentions to me before, so he was coming now to explain himself.

And yet…I felt a perhaps-inevitable sentiment of disaster. Something wasn't right. There was some piece of the events of the night—Tim's presence at the LexTower, Lex's hasty exit—that didn't fit. It didn't make sense. There was an underlying darkness to the whole night. Something terrible was about to happen. I just couldn't place what it was, or when it would arrive.

It had become increasingly clear to me in recent days, with the intervention(s) of Tim Drake, and Lex's own…eccentricities…that maybe I was shaking hands with the Devil. Maybe I was diving into unsure waters—matters of which I had no control.

Lex had done—had been—many things in his life: billionaire, philanthropist, doctor, and scientist. And yet, the reporter's instinct in me said there was a skeleton in Lex's closet—something…darker about his life that he was hiding. I didn't want to ask about it. It wasn't my place, even though we were in my home.

What was it that Lex Luthor had to hide? What was it about him that made Tim Drake—and my parents—so wary? I had an intention to find out—in good time. But for now, I wanted to play what cards I had. Let the chips fall where they may.

I suddenly realized I was gawking. For the first time since I had known him, I was gawking at Lex Luthor. I had come to know him so well, almost like a father…but our relationship had apparently evolved to the level of hero worship. At least…on my side it had.

"Lex," I said intently. "What brings you here?"

He puffed his cigar, and replied plainly. "I wanted to pick up my car. If you're done with it, that is."

I shook my head innocently. "It's all yours."

"Good. By the way," he trailed off, extending his hand across the table to me. Clamped between his thumb and forefinger was a twenty dollar bill. "Hope sends her compliments."

I took the twenty, regarded it dubiously, and then slid it into my pocket. Lex continued.  
I'll be taking the Jag in a moment, but there are some things I'd like to clear up before I go."

"Well, take your time. Can I get you anything?" I asked, effortlessly sliding towards the fridge. For a moment, I thought I saw Lex cringe in his seat. If I could see inside his brain, he probably didn't like my questioning. Lex wasn't quite the kind of man who liked to be questioned unnecessarily, even though the result would be me…waiting on him hand and foot. _Yes sir, like the circle, life comes back around on itself._

"No I'm fine," he answered politely. "I'd ask for some wine, but I doubt you'd have any."

"Our cabinets are bone dry, in terms of liquor," I said dryly. "Dad just doesn't have the stomach he did in college."

"That's good news," Lex said confidently as he regarded his burning cigar for a moment. "Healthy, wealthy, and, uh…wise, you know."

"Yeah," I responded tentatively. Lex smiled curtly, mildly amused, and puffed his cigar. I raised my eyebrows expectantly; waiting to see if Lex would actually tell me why he was here. I sense there was more at stake than a Jaguar.

Of course he wouldn't. Not that he was too good for that—he was, in the final analysis, hideously self-assured—but the thought of him letting me in on his little caper was…promising. I felt pretty good about myself tonight, so I pressed my luck.

I returned to the chair opposite Lex, and sat erect, my spine uncomfortably chafing the spokes of the wooden chairback. Lex pulled a glass ashtray to him and stubbed out what remained of his cigar. He exhaled loudly, sat up in the chair, and clasped his hands together on the table. I held mine nervously in my lap, dug my fingernails into my wrist.

"Allen, I don't believe in mincing words," he said in a raspy tone. "I came here tonight for one reason."

I started wringing my hands nervously, and half expected Lex to pull a gun on me. _That overcoat does seem a little…crowded._

"So why **are** you here?" The words flowed callously, effortlessly from me; my brain almost unaware that I had said them.

"I'm a businessman, Allen," he said, mildly amused at himself. "I go where I must."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Quite right," Lex said coarsely. I sensed he was impressed by my hands-on approach. And the fact of the matter was I wanted to know why the hell he was here. Frankly speaking, I was beginning to think Tim wasn't all that skewed in his logic. Growing up under the Bible-belting wing of my mother, I had learned early on the virtue of answering when spoken to.

Lex had been demonstrating increasingly odd behavior in the past few days, and I wanted to see the root of the issue. His silence was…disturbing.

As I pondered these thoughts, I watched Lex's hand slide between the unbuttoned folds of his overcoat. When he pulled it back out, he was holding a long white business envelope. His eyebrows lowered as if in concentration (or perhaps anger, I couldn't tell) and he slid the envelope across the table to me.

"What is this?" I asked, waiting for some kind of permission to tear open the envelope. As I waited for a response, I bounced the envelope in my hands to weigh it. From my estimation, it had a lot of things in there. _Probably a subpoena_, I thought. He probably needs me to cover up something for him. _Yes, that's it. Take the fall for your idol, Allen. It'll be worth it. _I dismissed those thoughts as Lex replied.__

"Just open it," he said through a narrowed gaze and concerted tone.

So I did. Again I saw a formal greeting letter, akin to the one I had received when Lex gave the LexCorp Corporate Scholarship. I glanced over it; not bothering to read much of it. _Wait. There. At the bottom…near Lex's signature. "Resignation of current environs and requisition for permanent abode with Dr. Alexander Joseph Luthor." What the hell?_

Indeed, what the hell. I flipped through the rest of the papers hastily, looking vainly for some kind of answer. The answer lay in Lex's piercing green eyes, when I looked back at him. I threw the papers back on the table and questioned him.

"What is this?"

"Just what it says," Lex said. "I've given you funds, now I wish to give you a more…permanent placement in my life. You can come live with me. **If** you like."

"And the second part?"

" 'Requisition for permanent abode' means that I'm asking you to come with me."

"What?"

"It's true, Allen," he said cockily. "Come live with me."

I sat back in the chair and cocked my head. I understood full well what he meant. But I was still...blown away. I'd been a reporter—not in the literal sense, but still damn good at it—for the school newspaper at Whitehorse. Part of my job as a newsman was to look at a story from all possible angles, analyze the nature of the story…and then go below it; find the story within the story. Because that's the thing with news…and life in general: there are always hidden doors. Always some deeper meaning yearning to be discovered. What deeper meaning was there to this story?

"This is no joke," Lex said pressingly.

"No…" I trailed off momentarily. I went back to the papers, looking through the stapled pages. On each page there were places marked with red arrows indicating a signature by the other party—in this case, me. "I know it's not. It's just…"

"What?" Lex asked impatiently. "This is not something I'm doing lightly, Allen."

"I know," I said gravely.

"I'd like to…share with you a bedtime story," Lex said. "Sooner or later, my sphere of influence on this earth will fade, leaving a void. That void must be filled. I see you as the only answer to that enigma."

"Really?" I asked, looking up from the papers. _Yes, that's it, Allen. Take your seat at Lex's feet. It'll be great. Riches, women, and greater besides: a full head of hair. Can't beat that._ I looked up at him, speaking the only thought that coursed through my mind.

"Are you sure this is legal?"

"Down to the last punctuation mark." Lex bowed his head for a moment, lit another cigar, and looked back up at me.

"Well," I said with a sigh. "It all looks fine."

"My only concern is you," Lex said, the smoke from his cigar enveloping his bald head. "I want to make sure that you do what you feel is right, even if it means broken dreams. If you want, I'll let you mull this over. Make your decision and get back to me. Time is no matter here."

"Well, I'd be…**remiss** if I didn't say you kinda sprung this on me with no warning, y'know."

"I know, and I apologize, but I felt it had to be done as soon as possible," Lex said. He stood from the far end of the table, straightened his overcoat, and began pacing. "I want to make sure you're taking care of yourself. You're about to embark on a great journey, and without sounding trite, it's true. You're leaving one world and entering another. Most people in your position wouldn't know up from down, and yet you are the exception. You're a strong man, stronger than any I've ever known, but you know how it is."

"No," I said, pressing my luck. "I don't."

"You need a strong guide. Someone to hold your hand."

As he made his way from the breakfast nook to the refrigerator, he puffed his cigar intermittently and stared at the ceiling_. He thinks he's at a board meeting. But he isn't. This is my house…but how would it look if I threw Lex Luthor out?_

"Are you suggesting that I…need a nanny?"

"Allen," Lex said, inhaling deeply. "I told you once that I'm not in the business of mercy missions."

I turned in my chair, and rested my arm on the table. I went back to the paper, pretending to read it, when in all seriousness I knew full well the graveness of this new little twist.

"Base? You're implying…" I trailed off as I waited for some sort of nonverbal response. None came, and I went on. "You're implying that I'm not doing too well for myself here? That I'm not getting the proper nurturing I deserve."

"I wasn't born yesterday. I see a certain look on your face every time you come to the tower."

_What look?_

"That…longing feeling. The feeling that you could be anywhere else in the universe and it would certainly be better than this place."

"That much is true," I murmured gutturally. And, simply put, it was true. My parents—since they had finally wised up and accepted that I had begun…a relationship with Lex—were nonetheless removed from it. Either they hated Lex for inflated non-reasons—useless arguments that did nothing for their case, or they just thought he was the standard bad influence. Either way, it was a load of crap. Truth be told, I had grown sick and tired of their little antics recently. Veritably shunning me at graduation, hardly speaking to me in the week that ensued, and finally not even staying around to hear what the enigmatic Lex Luthor had to show me at 11:00 on a Friday night. _It's not every day billionaires show up at your door, you know. _So it was slightly unsettling to know that my parents had just cut the umbilical, so to speak, so abruptly.

"Perhaps that was a bit rushed," Lex said, staring at me through cold eyes. I cowered in concession, and let him go on.

"My point is, I gave you a chance at a future you may not have been able to achieve otherwise." He puffed on his cigar, his eyes dancing across the table to meet mine. I could only guess what was going on in the massive engine of his brain. Probably delighting wickedly at his own magnificence; relishing the amount of control he had exerted over me.

I looked up at him, feigning obliviousness and said quietly, "Lex…" I said nothing else. I couldn't. To say I was between a rock and a hard place wasn't quite accurate. No, I was in much deeper than I knew. I couldn't think of a way to escape. Lex's silver tongue and quick wit had, in some way or another co-opted my functioning brain.

"I've offered you the world on a silver platter once already," he said darkly. "I've been like a father to you."

My eyes went away from him for a long while. He stepped back, and I heard the kitchen sink spurt to life. Lex ran his dying cigar under the stream of water, and tossed it in the garbage can. All the while I watched him do it, and considered my options.

In one reality, I could stay here, in this house, with these people—whom I love dearly but don't really get along with. Or I could leave this place and go with a man I felt no love, but immense trust for.

Either way, something had to give. One world would be destroyed, and the other would enjoy success. But that was the nature of the world. One man's hell is another's heaven, they say.

"Whatever decision you make, I support it," he said. I didn't detect the slightest bit of pettiness in his voice; he wasn't begging me to do this, and I wasn't pushing myself away from it. But there was something to this. To Lex. He wasn't forcing me to sign anything, but I felt a darkness creeping in. Like…he **needed** me. Desperately.

Lex extended his hand to me, an offer for friendship, and I stared coldly at it. What else was there to do? To refuse his generosity at this point would be rude. No, not rude…downright immoral. I could no more tell Luthor 'no thanks' than I could apologize to Tim Drake.

Where was my sense of urgency? Where was that reporter's instinct which told me something was amiss here? Where was that part of my being that loved to dig and root for dirty laundry about people?

It was gone. All of it was gone. I was alone…unstable. Rational thoughts having failed me, I considered my options a final time.

_Could I leave my family—the people who had loved and cared for me since before I knew them—and go with this man who…had shaped so much of my life recently? _

_Could I say no to Luthor? Could he appreciate the fact that I loved my family deeply? Could my family appreciate the fact that I respected Luthor more than anyone will ever know?_

In the mixture of rampant thoughts, the subroutines of my brain swirled around a million different subjects. Tim, Gotham City, my father, Sara…none of them would understand what I had to do. This was my future…this man…Lex Luthor.

He had single-handedly transformed me from timid nerd into assured egomaniac. In the process of befriending a billionaire, I had sacrificed the things which were essential to me: friendship, love, and a sense of belonging.

_That's not entirely false, you know. You're quite welcome in the LexTower. You made a name for yourself, hanging around with Lex. With Luthor's assistance, doors were opened, opportunities showed up, and you became privy to the Richest Man in the World. You owe it to yourself to take him up on this offer. You will never get another chance at this. _

I exhaled laboriously. God damn, why did I have to be so wishy-washy?

Lex ignited another cigar and spoke to me. The smoke came forth in volumes, enveloping Lex's skull. I could smell the stench insinuating into my clothes like invisible poison. Night had already fallen, bathing the kitchen in dark ebony and cobalt hues. The darkness invaded the breakfast nook, and crept over Luthor's form like otherworldly claws consuming their prey. I sat across from Lex, slumped in my chair and staring down at my crotch. No answers there, but I was deeply assessing my situation. When all else fails, I had read someplace, trust reason as your absolute. _What was that? Ayn Rand? __Jefferson_

"Allen, I know how hard it is—losing your family. I lost mine once. It's not easy to leave one world and enter another so…unprepared."

Already, Lex was jumping the gun. Counting on my indecisiveness to make his move.

"I'd like to think that my influence on you is such that you can make the decision you think is right and still be satisfied with it. Regardless of how I will react. There's no victory in a baseless decision."

I nodded my head in agreement, still considering my options. Lex's speech went on.

"It's time to ask yourself, Allen. What do you believe?"

My eyes rolled around in their sockets, surveying the kitchen floor.

"I myself have always believed in the primacy of the human spirit. We make our own decisions, with little to no outside aid, and the result is favorable for us. This is my philosophy, Allen. In order to be successful as humans, we must always think about and for ourselves. Selfishness, Allen. Make choices that will be beneficial to you; screw everyone else's perception. A cruder way of saying it is…forget everyone else. Your will is the only one that matters."

"Lex…" I murmured, trying desperately to formulate a defense.

"Independence, Allen. Independence saves lives, preserves morality. Logic enables us to function as we ought to. Choice permits us latitude in existence. Right now, you have the choice. Branch out from the pandemonium of this place."

"It's not **pandemonium**," I said darkly, slightly aggravated that he would make such a claim.

"But it is. I see it in your eyes. You want out of this humdrum existence. Removed from the, ah, ignobility of your parents."

He leaned over the table and whispered to me, "Who, by the way, didn't even support you at your graduation day."

My quiet anger subsided as Lex sat back. "But…I can't leave. They're my family."

"Everyone has family, but look at it Allen. In recent months, how much of a help have they been?"

The answer—with most things recently—was 'not much of one.'

"Take it from me. They'll only hinder your performance. Think. Always bringing you down, aren't they?"

I gritted my teeth and formed my hands into fists; my nails dug deeply into my skin.

"They're…my family. I can't turn my back on them," I said desperately. "Aside from the guilt of just abandoning them outright, I couldn't go without giving them some sort of reason. They might take me down a notch, but I still love them. I'd be turning my back on them at a critical point in my life."

"Families do that. It's their nature, Allen. My family constantly ran me into the ground—made me feel worthless. I could have become very much like them."

My eyes rolled up to see Lex again. Surely he was joking; trying to sympathize with me. "Really?"

"Yes," he said bluntly. "But…instead of wallowing in cheap emotion and self-loathing, as they did, I chose to become a god. I control human lives, Allen. Instead of being controlled. I offer you the same."

My eyes went back to the table, hoping to find an answer there, if not on the floor. Behind me, Lex stood looking at the papers on the refrigerator: doctor's notices, preschool drawings of my little sister, and my final English exam. The one that had 'A ' written on the bottom left corner. It was held in place by a single diamond-shaped Superman magnet. I had begged my parents to get rid of it, but they didn't listen.

They never did. I heard Lex's feet shuffle as he began pacing.

"I think you would feel terrible guilt for being a turncoat in the eyes of your loved ones, and I can respect that." Lex steepled his fingers and reclined in the chair; the night further encasing him. "But…you can't run from yourself anymore. You can't run from the facts."

Family or Luthor.

Love or Money.

The establishment or a new direction.

Whichever one I chose, the other one would leave me forever.

"Again I say to you. Pull your boots out of the mud, stand and be counted. You're a tribute to the human spirit, Allen. If that has any bearing to you."

He turned around, looked down at me; saw my spine curving lazily against the spokes of the chair. "You owe it to yourself to at least think about it."

I had been degrading myself recently, and Lex had done everything in his power to destroy that part of my being. I hated negativity, and yet that was all I was getting from those around me. Those…who were supposed to love and support me through thick and thin. Well, this certainly was the thickest of thick, and they were nowhere to be found. _Surprise surprise_.

I felt a lump rise dimly in the back of my throat and looked up at Lex. He slid a ballpoint pen across the table.

I glanced dolefully at him, and crossed my arms.

"No," I said through desperate lips.

"What?" he asked, and for a moment, I saw the broadness of his chest sink in on itself in halfhearted defeat.

For the first time since I had known him, Lex was a fish out of water. He had been concentrating his efforts on me for some time now, and it was painfully clear to me what he was trying to accomplish here. He knew I was having trouble at home, and he callously sought to do something about it. He wanted to oust my parents and replace himself as a more viable solution to the "parental question".

I almost fell for it, too. But Luthor jumped the gun. Announced his plans early enough that I would have time—not much but enough—for the gravity of it all to seep in. He wanted to…adopt me, for lack of a better word. And I sensed he would go to any length to realize his dream.

_Messed up dreams, Alley boy, you know. Look at you. This is what you've been made into. The self-doubting, wishy-washy nerd who doesn't know what he wants so he has to have some gazillionaire spell it out! Like he said, Alley, take a stand for once in your miserable god-damned life._

"No," I said hoarsely. "No…I won't sign it," The words were out before I could catch them, but it didn't really matter now did it? I had taken my stand, and…the chips were about to fall. I pushed the papers away thoughtfully; still assessing the situation as I did.

Lex had stood from his chair and turned away; he was now looking out the bay window, into the blackness of the back yard. I took my eyes away from the table and looked at Lex's broad shoulders.

"So that's it, then," he said. "You've made your choice."__

"Yeah," I said, nervously clearing my throat.

"Then there's nothing I can say to change your mind. Is there? Can't say I blame you, though."

I sunk back in my chair, and considered my options for a minute or three. Could I renege? Could I just pull a 180 and jump on-board with Lex? It was worth a shot.

"Lex…"

"Well?" he asked, slightly agitated. _He knows I'm flip-flopping. He's counting on my instability for some reason. Good for him, but bad for you, Allen. Can you get out of this before you get in too deep? _He knew I was vulnerable. Lex Luthor, the great mind-reader.

"You're sadly predictable, Allen. But you're also curious. As to what the outcome could possibly have been had you taken the money," he rumbled. Then he took up a nicer inflection and began speaking normally again. _Yeah…normal_. "I care about you Allen. Otherwise I would be in my Chalet in Austria right now."

"You're a wonderful man, Lex. You've given me more than I deserve. But I can't do this. I owe my family too much."

"Then…" Lex said grimly as he stood and straightened his jacket. "That's it."

I felt my temples start to throb as a headache set in. An especially bad one, this time. I massaged them lightly and listened to Lex.

"You've made your choice, and I respect that."

I swallowed the collected saliva in my mouth and watched Lex slide his hands into his pockets. He turned away from the window, gathered the papers and shuffled them away within the folds of his coat. He turned and went for the living room, but stopped short at the threshold.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes," he said with a sigh. "That is unless you have something **else** you wish to share?"

"What about the scholarship?" I asked sickly.

"What **about** it?"

"You're not taking it away?"

"No, Allen. You may not have made the choice that I favored, but I still admire your tenacity."

I turned in my chair and looked at him intently. Lex turned around, inspected his fingernails briefly.

"You're gonna go far someday, Allen. But that day was not today, I think."

I reclined in my chair. Lex checked his watch.

"I've got to be going."

"Uh…alright."

Lex turned to me and replied hastily, "I want you to know…I have appreciated our time together these past weeks. I certainly hope your choice will not bring an undue end to our relationship."

"I've enjoyed it too," I said disjointedly.

"Good. I'll be giving you a call sometime," Lex said darkly, inspecting his fingernails. "When I do, I'll be asking you some questions. Questions that…would be **beneficial** for you to answer. I'd advise you to cooperate when that time comes. I know you will."

"Lex…" I spoke up, narrowly catching him before he slid out the door. He half-turned his head back to me, and I went on.

"Thank you…"

He turned around to face me completely, a genuine smile across his face.

"It's my pleasure," Lex said as he straightened his overcoat and opened the door. I watched him stride confidently down the front walk, his umbrella perched over his head, each footfall replacing the one before it with brisk precision. In less than a minute, Lex was in the Jaguar and at the end of the street.

Gone. But not forgotten.

There's a sign out beyond where the Stern Bypass integrates into the urban framework of the Big Apricot. In big patriotic colors, with big bold print, the sign reads Welcome to Metropolis, home of Superman.

But there's another sign. As you drive among the 'Penthouse District' as the tabloids call it—where the upper crust of Metropolitan society live and eat and love and scheme—there is a sign that reads Metropolis: Birthplace of Excellence. Bicentennial Celebration funded by Lex Luthor.

But that sign will never get a front-page splash. It will never get an exclusive on the eleven o'clock news. Because the greatest things in life are the ones that are never covered by news teams or some prodding photographer.

When the action is over and events are reflected upon, they seem…somehow lessened by the effects of time. Less grandiose than what they could have—or would have—been.

My experience with Lex wasn't what I expected.

Few things ever are.


	16. Notate Bene

**_Author's Note:_**What follows are a series of annotations for the story you've hopefully just finished. Thoughts and putative reactions and redactions for the most part. Things I wish I might have done differently, and things I actually liked in the story, considering it was the first big story I'd ever published here. There have been many since, some of them I like despite their flaws (like 'Powers', the first of a trilogy I made about Scott Lang, AKA Ant-Man). Some of them are the very favorite things I've ever written (like 'Wants and Needs', the Bart Allen Christmas story). Most are passable, and a few are downright terrible. They're all learning experiences though.

And though I seem to remember this website having a policy distinctly against annotations as devoted chapters, hopefully this slides. Because, and this is my point: sometimes the story behind the story is the story. I have revisited 'Il Principe' many times since I originally submitted it here, always thinking of something new to do with it; in lieu of a complete revision a la the Star Wars Special Editions, I give you this. I hope you enjoy it, Constant Readers.

* * *

I first published this story in the fall of 2004. Back then I was a shit for brains High School graduate on the cusp of college (in fact I drafted the last chapters during freshman orientation in the August heat); more on that later, though.

I've been thinking about this story for a lot of years, and I come back to it often. One very gracious reviewer called it '_Catcher in the Rye_ meets_ Apt Pupil_ in the DC Universe'. I couldn't have asked for a better compliment. Really I was just trying to tell the story of a kid, maybe too serious and too into himself, falling in with the worst crowd of them all, idiomised into the DC Universe, and ultimately deconstructed down to a negative example. If anything, I suppose it's Othello, or even Gordon Gekko: what happens when damaged people give other damaged people an opening. The dark side of self-esteem and the horribly slippery slope on which live ambition, mania and power.

The big idea for this story came out of a few places. One was a Batman story I read once called '24/7' (part of the now-defunct Gotham Knights book, you can find it reprinted in 'Batman: Bruce Wayne Murderer/Fugitive vol 3'). There we see snippets of Bruce Wayne's day, from charity luncheon to golf and the like. For me the most meaningful thing was one simple page: Wayne shares an elevator ride with a high-schooler mail-room clerk and offers the kid the Wayne Foundation college scholarship. The kind of random kindness that maybe does more for the soul of Gotham City than does dressing like a bat and consorting with the scum of the underworld.

I kept thinking about that story, and the DCU, and the people in that universe. And then I thought of Lex Luthor, the anti-Wayne, and how that kind of charity could be twisted. Made into something cheap and seductive, and even then I started thinking about Luthor anew. Not merely a supervillain obsessed with the conquest of the universe, as the Super Friends would have you believe, but an active force for evil in the world. A brilliant mind in self-imposed exile from the rabble, a humanist who couldn't care less about humans, a man of the people whose only focus is himself. A poisonous soul whose sole aim is the death and discreditation of Superman as a means to his own personal glory.

We see this mindset in _All-Star Superman_ most excellently, and also in Brian Azzarello's _Luthor_. The kind of sociopath who understands, like Batman, that 'he can't do it alone'. So he gathers these people to him, these deer in headlights who barely have a hold on their own lives, let alone the way the DC Universe works, and he breaks them.. Naturally realising that to achieve his goal of ascension, he needs help. Or at least corpses. Political collateral is another fun term for it. Human justification for his hatred and eventual killing of the Man of Steel-our designated hero and symbol of hatred. So what this is really is about, I guess, is views of humanity, flipped. Superman, what we should want to be, is not what we're told we ought to be. Rather we all ought to aspire to Luthor-who we're told has our interests at heart, because if he says it it must be true. Words vs Actions. A cognate: the climax of _Infinite Crisis_ depicts Superman battling a crazed alternate version of his younger self and saying 'what matters is what you do'. This seemed to illustrate my point terrifically: Superman does good because he is good and he understands that talk, while maybe not cheap, is just talk. You have to do something. Luthor by contrast sits in his office and grows philosophically fat on ideas and connecting them to his human victims. Conceptually he's Jabba the Hutt, accruing wealth (and not merely monetary wealth either) and exporting human misery, and the truest reflection of his sinister role is that he presents himself handsomely. A cheap Christian view of things, but a worthwhile one, I think.

Another source for the story was from an interview with Grant Morrison, who said something like 'the DCU is a big crazy place where crazy stuff happens every day'. I immediately disagreed and wanted to disprove it, and so I set about creating a downright humdrum universe. One where Luthor doesn't fight Superman every Saturday-to be sure, one where Luthor none the less obsesses over killing the Man of Steel-and where Luthor, even if out of boredom alone, picks out human targets as collateral against Superman. Again: a human, who couldn't care less about other humans, using them to strike at the alien, who supports humankind. The biggest lie of all: Luthor's so-called support of mankind, and this story is an attempt to illustrate the faultlines in that thought process. To show Luthor as he maybe actually is. A vicious and well-spoken sociopath, powerful and comfortable enough to not care about actions or consequences, but merely the execution of his own surreal goals. Another story I wrote, for the Avengers (you know it as _Powers_ which is based on the 2009 Dark Reign), explored the concept further, there for Norman Osborn and Dr Doom.

One last note: a great deal of this story comes out of my own High School experiences, which is to say that last year of self-realisation before you run off to college, off to life, off to a world that, once completed, your eighteen year old self wouldn't know and wouldn't care about. So Alan is a tad autobiographical: I say a tad because he's really more than I expected. Smarter, more hubristic, more full of himself. Accomplished and able to back up his own successes, sure, but one of the things I wanted to accomplish with this story was to discuss the limits of pride and self-esteem, and of course to do so within the confines of the DC Universe. More on that later.

1. GTO. The most ostentatious car I could think of in 2004.

2. 'Happy crap': a line from my dad, no less. Droll, very droll.

3. 'The school paper': I've always been fascinated by the idea of a school paper. High-schoolers executing a decidedly adult thing. A bit Peter-Pan. More on that later.

4.'Illicit money scandals': Allen once again showing how clever he thinks he is. And ultimately, since no one else at the downright sleepy Whitehorse High School is into conspiracies or anything remotely interesting, how isolated he is.

5. 'Just another hoop': Again with the autobiography. I think we all get this ennui at some time in our lives.

6. Alan's parents: his mum is named after an old AP English teacher of mine, though the personality's somewhat changed. More in line with the overbearing mother of Norman Page in 'Peyton Place'. Alan's dad I never got around to making a personality for. At any rate, they're hardly important and mostly ambulatory plot devices. The idea is that they're hardly in Alan's life anyway. So he's resentful.

7. 'The Roger Stern Bypass': Roger Stern made a name for himself writing the Avengers comic in the 80s. Later he went to work for DC on the Superman book. The Clone Luthor story, which becomes important later, was mostly his doing. The idea is twofold here: work as many Easter Eggs from the 80s/90s Superman comcs into the story as possible, and to make the story as much as love letter to Metropolis as anything. Not sure how successful the latter was.

8. The Metropolis Plaza Hotel: A throwaway reference, one of many, to the massively successful Batman story 'Hush', which had ended a few months prior to me publishing this. Another Easter Egg: 1940, Allen's room number, denotes Luthor's debut year, in Action Comics #23.

9. The LexCorp Tower: I never settled on which version I wanted to use, or indeed was using: the giant glass 'L'-topped version from the 80s/90s or the tuning fork version from 1999-2004. In my mind I defaulted to the 'tuning fork' version circa 2001, even though the story mostly comes out of the Byrne glass spire version.

10. More on the LexTower's 'deco, noir-esque': stupid narration, but it's justified one of two ways. Either I was of the sense that Deco would appeal to someone like Luthor, or the miniseries 'Lex Luthor: Man of Steel' had been announced with some sample art from Lee Bermejo confirming my suspicions. Reality is probably a little bit of both.

11. 'Observation Deck': the Empire State Building Syndrome: go as high as you can to see as far as you can. Tourists. And a sign that Allen's still indulging the little kid inside.

* * *

**-Chapter Two-**

1. The Galaxy Communication Building. Home of Morgan Edge, and becomes important later on.

2. 'Lombardi's': a reference to place that doesn't exist. Not really. More evidence of me trying to build as much of a world to Metropolis as possible. The kind of city that doesn't just have two or three businesses-The Daily Planet, Galaxy Communications, and LexCorp-but a whole multi-layer society at work.

3. Lex: one regret with his whole introduction is that I had him using the word 'delectable', which is too Homer Simpson for what he's trying to accomplish here: fear, intimidation, sure, but also respect. Allen should be in awe of him, and is, and Luthor didn't even really have to try.

4. 'Getting some lunch': the narration here is from Allen, because we don't know what Luthor's thinking yet. Maybe we never really do. At any rate, the idea is a sinister one. He's already determined the kind of person Allen is, what he wants from life, and what he can use him for. I read an old legend once about Margaret Thatcher that said she formed an opinion about someone in ten seconds and rarely changed it. Luthor does it in five. Evil guys don't need the whole ten. An aside about lunch: the description comes wholesale from Greg Rucka's _Batman: No Man's Land_ novelisation, which also features Luthor at his slimiest. I don't know why I had them just eat at Lex's desk though. Hm.

5. Mercy: the original bitch in sheep's clothing. Never trusted Allen-not that she needed to; she knows exactly what Lex is after and doesn't question it. She's not built for questioning-and part of her role is that she doesn't even view Allen as another human being, or entirely real. She ends up an obedient solipsist, and comfortably so.

6. Lex's history and Suicide Slum: An expanded version of small-talk, neither of them really saying anything. Just regurgitating mutually exclusive facts; the illusion of connection. I see Luthor as an essentially Satanic character. He can't defeat the god he wants dead on his own power, so he gets the rest of humanity to help him along, some of whom (Mercy) go willingly, others who go under duress or coerced. One who, to borrow Al Pacino's method, doesn't lie-he just tells you the precise truth. This becomes more important in a few chapters. Lex's usual MO of concealment and terror would never fly if he was actively trying to seduce this kid into a life of extra-badness, so he's doing a Paradise Lost sort of thing laying every truth out in the light. The dark side of transparency. And of course Allen's getting clever on himself again, and laying out just what he thinks of the whole situation. To Lex's face no less. Bold. Lex of course notes every moment.

7. 'No motivations': More platitudes. Like so much Palpatine in Star Wars, Luthor telling Allen exactly what he wants to hear, even if only on a subconscious level.

8. The Baldy Award: DC Comics used to issue these to readers in the letters pages; the prize was a signed postcard from Luthor himself. Marvel did a similar thing; theirs was called a 'No-Prize', if I remember correctly, an empty envelope with a little congratulation from Stan Lee. Meta, of course, but quite brilliant. Here I've made the 'Lex Luthor Zenith Award for Excellence in Journalism' a kind of Peabody Awards thing, with Lex himself at the head, naturally.

9. Shuster Opera House is self-explanatory. The bit about the House's architect is a shameless reference to Ayn Rand's _The Fountainhead_, and something which would doubtless get me lambasted by the Objectivists.

10. Cat Grant: part of the 80s revamp and here used as little more than a gossip girl/red carpet type. Luthor flaunting Allen, transparently, as his nephew: prideful. He knows Superman is watching and he's waiting for that meeting.

* * *

-**Chapter Three-**

1. Five hundred million dollars a year: a gross underestimation, if I'm being honest. In Jeph Loeb's _Superman For All Seasons_, Lois and Jimmy do the math on Luthor's income and break it down to him making a hundred dollars a second. If I've done the math right out of that (that hundred dollars for every second of every year) his annual salary looks more like this: $3,155,692,600. Which is still lowballing it, I suspect (!)

2. Allen's dad calling him 'Boy': a pet peeve if ever I have one, and meant to show their disdain for him. Just a little.

3. I meant to include a line in here about Luthor financially fucking over Allen's parents or grandparents (hence their incredulity and even hatred of him) at some point in the past. A nod to his capriciousness in this story's spiritual forebear, _Lex Luthor: The Unauthorised Biography_, by the inimitable James Hudnall. Never got around to it in the final draft.

4. Allen in the bath: I cop to writing as many scenes as I could where Allen was naked or bathing. Something about vulnerability-or a more shameless admission of something else. You pick.

5. Tim Drake: I figured I was writing a story about a well-meaning teenager who was maybe too clever and/or bull-headed for his own good, the kind of intelligence that's very close to being too intelligent to function. The kind of teenager I imagined Lex to be, and indeed all of us to have been at some point. My first thought for backstory and best-friend was the DCU's other premier Reasonable Teenager: Tim Drake. Pulling a backstory out of the air for these two was a joy, and not difficult-and it played into other themes I was going for. More on that later.

6. 'Bruce coming in...' I figured that Allen would know, at least tangentially, about Tim's living situation-even if he had no clue about Robin. More on that, too, later. Tim of course had Luthor's number from the beginning, for obvious reasons (sidenote: I also meant to get into a longer backstory here involving Tim and Luthor, who would've been the Australian clone version by the time Tim comes across him, the Death of Superman, and a big long shout to the early 90s Superman stuff; it all never materialised) and of course fears for Allen's immortal soul. Not quite as theatrically played with in the text, but still there.

* * *

**-Chapter Four-**

1. 'Forty-eight seconds'. A reference to Mark Millar's _Superman: Red Son_. I never measured out this conversation to see if it synched correctly..

2. Helicopter in the front parking lot. A power move on Luthor's part, and small potatoes, all things considered. Big enough though, perhaps, to wow some jerky high-schoolers. Which was his point, after all.

3. Hope: as opposite of Mercy as humanly possible, sent by Luthor to butter Allen up, to get him when the going's good. Mercy's opinion we've already heard and seen: now's the time for false hope and so Lex sends the nice one. Secretly, just as bad as Mercy. Maybe worse: at least Mercy won't smile and compliment you as she breaks your legs.

4. Flatiron seaport. All the maps I could dig up about Metropolis-the Dorling-Kindersly 'Superman: The Ultimate Guide' oversized HC was invaluable-put LexCorp on the far (eastern?) extremity of the centre island, not unlike Manhattan. My sense was that a thriving seaside industry grew up around the eastside canneries and docks. In the shadow, of course, of the LexTower.

5. Team Luthor: Another reference to the Roger Stern/John Byrne days. Lex is showing off here, and darkly.

6. 'A thing for blondes': it just occurred to me that I'd always thought of Allen as brunette. Hmm. Here Lex is taking a page, let's say, from the Joker book: fast and loose personality shifts. Messing with Allen and in his reservedly gleeful way.

7. The tuition thing: I never did settle on what I felt was a proper-oh let's use the word 'bribe'-that Luthor could entice Allen over to the dark side with. The tuition thing made sense at the time and grounded the story: it wasn't going to be ray-guns and Kryptonite, it was going to be Allen O'Neill and the DC Universe's heart of darkness.

8. Superman: well, here he was. I also never liked that I had Allen hate him so early and so quickly. A sideways glance, not unlike the young Boba Fett to Obi-Wan Kenobi in Star Wars Episode II might have sufficed. Chalk it up to Lex's (ab)useful anti-Superman litanies.

9. Superman and Lex conversing like old buddies. Which is what I imagine they do. Through gritted teeth. You know these kinds of people: secretly they hate each other but they manage a smile. And in polite company, Lex needs Superman right where Lex wants him to be, and for Allen to be hearing what Lex wants him to hear. As fake and rehearsed a three-way interaction as there ever was. And a conscious effort to cast their rivalry as something more than just hatred. Think Professor X and Magneto, Reed Richards and Dr Doom. Superman and Luthor needed to be able to communicate on a level light-years above Allen, because that's where both their minds live.

10. 'Phony'. _Catcher in the Rye_ seeping through. Mea culpa.

11. Allen's basically going off at or on Superman at this point. Probably should have made a mention that Superman was, of course, hearing all of this. The idea though is that Allen's inner Luthor is coming out. Badly.

* * *

**-Chapter Five-**

1. 'Aunt Iris': Another aborted idea, here that Allen had some relation to everyone's favorite speedster family. Not directly to Barry or Wally, of course, but something like Allen's mom being Iris' sister. Or else there's a completely other Iris that lives in Keystone. Iris is a common enough name, yeah?

2. Hypersector: a nod this time to the 90s Superman books and their conception of Metropolis. These days Hypersector's gone by the wayside I think.

3. The Atlas Suite: Probably another subconscious reference to Ayn Rand, but a better metaphor for how Lex sees himself in relation to Metropolis. Maybe even to Allen.

4. 'The Red Light District'. Again I tried to make this about the city of Metropolis as much as anything. Given that the 80s/90s origin of Luthor involved Suicide Slum, a positively sunny sounding place, I tried to pepper in as many seedy places as I could. The idea is that it's just as bad as Gotham, but hides itself better. In the long run I found this a more depressing theme: however brilliant or nicely Art Deco Metropolis looks, it's got the same problems any other city does, and to boot Luthor's got the whole place wrapped around his little finger. That to me seemed a more meaningful takeaway than saying it's simply a shining example. And of course one of the reasons Superman is around is to clean it up.

5. I always figured Tim Drake was just as paranoid as Batman, but he runs it off in a little more functional manner. Sociopathically? And here he's pulling his Batman shtick on Allen, trying very purposefully to scare him away from Luthor.

6. I mentioned before that I see Luthor as an essentially Satanic character, one who doesn't have to lie-and indeed gets people on his side by laying beloved Truth in their hands. Here, Tim is doing the same. Had I had a better sense of that in 2004, I might have had Allen call Tim out on it. Still, the incredulity gets the plot where it needs to be.

7. 'I have my ways': the implication is that, as Robin, he's been spying on his best friend. Hardly a good buttress for his philosophical argument, but proof that Allen's in too deep and that someone's looking out for him. And of course, Batman isn't going to take Luthor's shit either, so it worked.

8. Tim also serves the double purpose of exposition. Being who he is in the superhuman community I reasoned he would naturally know all about Luthor's history-at the time I think I worked out a story where he found out from Batman shortly before Reign of the Supermen. Laying out all this stuff about who Luthor really is, and part of Allen's disbelief comes from the fact that it is all so absurd. One of the nice things about the medium is that we can use that absurdity to drive good storytelling. Or at least, clever storytelling

* * *

**-Chapter Six-**

1. Of course, in the depths of his little rage against the world, the last person Allen wants to run into is Mercy. Surprise! And of course the main bone of contention between them is Lex. Not that Mercy's concerned about being replaced: she's not programmed for it. But she is concerned that she might have to do something about this little shit for brains thinking he runs the world because Lex says so.

* * *

**-Chapter Seven-**

1. Sara. I wanted to make her just as paranoid and distrustful as Tim Drake. A girl next door, but a dark rendition thereof. The kind of girl who, with Allen at dinner, might ask the dreaded 'do you think I'm pretty'. Hideously insecure, both in herself and with Allen. Doesn't know quite why he's chosen her, assumes its because she has boobs and a vagina. When Allen brings up Lex, she takes it as a personal attack and think he's going to leave her for Luthor. As if. And of course Allen is attracted to her, so he plays up to her insecurities. A touch of cruelty on his part. Hoping each jab will be the jab home. This backfires on him later. Magnificently.

* * *

**-Chapter Eight-**

1. I never liked how the graduation speech went. I always intended it to be a giant middle finger on Allen's behalf. Think Bruce Wayne's fake little drunken tirade against his party guests in 'Batman Begins', only translated into a graduation spech that's too clever for it's own good. Plus I was kind of into Pink Floyd at the time, and the sorts of things that 'Have a Cigar' talked about seemed to fit the story, as far as selling yourself, recognition, and ultimately getting lost in the shuffle, the everyday detritus of life. Another note about the audience: you might also say they're so focused on Luthor being there-a person few of them were sure even really existed (think of it this way: you ever sit next to Bill Gates?)-and so not really giving, y'know, the keynote speaker the time of day. More evidence of Allen's ultimate insignificance. Next to Luthor, of course, we all pale. And Luthor would be the first to use that line about Superman.

* * *

**-Chapter Nine-**

1. Allen raging against the machine again. If you ever chance to get your hands on Frank Miller's _Daredevil_ (vols 1, 2, 3 in paperback, from a larger omnibus), there's an interview in the back of I think volume 2 and FM talks about parent relationships and basically says, 'you show me a kid that doesn't hate their father and I'll show you a damn liar'. So there's a little bit of that in this chapter, and I feel it works because we've basically exiled Allen's parents from the narrative. That served two purposes: gave Allen a way to exist on his own merits in the narrative, and it gave him something to be vengeful over.

2. In retrospect I don't know why I had him fish out his dad's gun. I never settled on an adequate display of his displeasure, indeed depression, after graduation. I know, what was there to be upset about, well how about having your thunder really rather stolen by your idol. And other stuff that I never, sadly, got the chance to address because I was busy focusing on Allen in relation to Luthor: Allen's rough home life, basically nonexistent parents, a needy girlfriend on her way out, and his own battles with isolation. I also thought about throwing in something about sexual orientation, but never got to it and indeed half-assed that in the sequel.

3. How did Lex get in there? Either the front door was unlocked and he let himself in, or he was there before Allen even got home. You pick.

* * *

**-Chapter Ten-**

1. This mostly comes straight out of Jeph Loeb's Superman/Batman comic and the first story arc there detailing the fall of President Luthor (which I thought was a missed opportunity if ever there was one). I have no idea how Allen would know about Lex's green and purple armour. Maybe a Team Luthor thing.

* * *

**-Chapter Eleven-**

1. Sara's being especially bitchy on purpose. More of her issues coming to bear-sense of Allen leaving her any day now. In her own mind, she's trying to tough-love Allen away from a bad influence, which gets into another dropped sub-plot-point: we posited Allen here as the valedictorian for a reason; as coming under Luthor's sway for a reason; as being friends with guys like Tim Drake for a reason. He's clearly intelligent and clearly driven, but not by any material or even social goal. There's no sense of 'I want this in life' from him, only the mental conception that people like to own things. He gets processes, he understands people. But like Luthor he's a tad obsessed about the way he views things. Sara and Tim Drake were meant to underscore this flaw in him, almost as if Tim said, 'one of the smartest men I know, falling in with Lex Luthor'-illustrating the varying grotesqueries and double-fallacies of Allen's path.

2. Allen's trouble with his dream goes back to my aggressive denial of the Grant Morrison view of the DCU. The bright, happy world where heroes are heroes and bad guys dress up in armor and lose is not something we've pursued in this story, and Allen seeing that kind of universe has unsettled him on a couple of levels. So much so that he wants, is desperately begging, Sara for help and ready to crawl in bed with her and make it all go away. But since his higher brain, his 'get your ass in gear' centre is taking control, he sublimates his own terror. If I'd had the great idea back then to work the dream in as some sort of Dr Destiny-type-thing (I dunno, Luthor working with John Dee to really make a mess of Allen for nothing less than the evulz), I might have done it. I think ti works better like this.

3. As it turns out, it is the last time he asks her for help. At least until the sequel when things get weirder.

* * *

**-Chapter Twelve-**

1. 'Three days later'. I meant to write a side-trip here about Allen staying gone from home and Lex alike during those three days, and no one knows where he went (or really cares, more about that later). Maybe going on a bender, however well-narrated and therefore sublimated he makes it, as he realises how deep in he's getting with Lex; starts to think maybe Tim Drake's got a point; starts to rue the disintegration with Sara. All of these things flooding back into his mind during what, at the time, I imagined to be the end of his life. More on that, too, later.

2. Lex and his cigars. H Upmann actually exists. This comes straight from Byrne's old 'Man of Steel' reboot from the 80s. Imagine Luthor, but fatter and with hair. Here my image of him mostly comes out of Ed McGuinness' art as well as Doug Mahnke's.

* * *

**-Chapter 13-**

1. Again with the nudity. Vulnerability maybe. I always imagined Allen to be stark raving naked and yelling at Robin here. There's something funny about being lambasted by a naked man.

2. Also important here is the fact that the Boy Wonder is strolling right into the LexTower armed with little else than his suit, his strength, his bo-staff and some major league brass balls of his own. I explored, at least a little, the relationship between Lex and Tim Drake in another set of stories: 'Divisive', 'Fear and Loathing', and 'The Endless Complications'-all to varying success. And here of course the idea is that Tim doesn't exactly fear Luthor. Not really at all, actually. More on that in 'Fear and Loathing'.

3. Cheap gay jokes, at the expense of Robin's very loud get-up, naturally.

4. Allen making references to stories that actually happened. But this gets into other stuff we discussed about the donwright stupid nature of the universe theses guys live in-where a story about Luthor trading his life to Neron, you know, actually does sound pretty...oh, farfetched is a good word.

5. 'Building a life'. Allen getting self-righteous again. I explored the idea elsewhere, for the Avengers at the Marvelous Competition, in the stories 'Also I Love You' and 'Savateurs'.

6. I'm always a fan of casual swearing, but there's something odd and stupid about having the Boy Wonder do it. In retrospect, a lame idea.

7. Tim knowing about Sara: I never settled on a suitable explanation-aside from saying the whole messed up relationship between Allen and Sarah is not the kind of coffeehouse conversation Allen would talk to Tim about. Sidenote: I always meant to write a sidetrip about how awful their sex life was. Never got around to it. Guess I kept looking for excuses for misery. Anyway, about Tim knowing about Sara, I default to my usual position: Tim and Bruce Wayne are as paranoid and obsessive as Luthor. But Luthor's the bad guy and Batman and Robin aren't. So there.

* * *

**-Chapter Fourteen-**

1. Mostly this is Allen's breakdown in glinting narration. He doesn't mope, he doesn't have the Dr House montage. He gets pissed off, railing as he goes, and storms away from the scene of the irritation. Driving Lex's Jaguar was like heating up a junkie's spoon. Giving him exactly what he needed at exactly the worst moment-and empowering him in a bad way. It's mostly derived-actually, pretty fully derived-from the Howard Mackie story 'Revenge of the Green Goblin', wherein, to show Peter Parker how much he loves him, Norman Osborn drugs the guy and locks him in an abandoned mansion. So yeah.

* * *

**-Chapter Fifteen-**

1. Again with Allen's parents being little more than background characters. Crudely painted too, like a High School musical set. I had a thought early on that Lex strolle din and crushed their spirits verbally, then just sat in the kitchen drinking some Perrier until Allen got home. I would still like to write that conversation.

2. Another sidetrip idea: Allen's parents stay in the living room, just off the kitchen and they can hear the whole final conversation. I wasn't sure where that would lead to, so I dropped it, and them, unceremoniously.

3. Allen's first words to Lex are the super-mature "what brings you here." His balls are shrivelling a little here, but he mans up and faces the beast. Maybe it's bravado.

4. The thing about Hope and Allen paying each other back, futilely, became a running joke. An easy way as well to establish a freeflowing banter between Allen and Lex, hiding under the guise of fiscal responsibility. Works for Congress, works for us, right?

5. This is the part where the connection from the Gotham Knights story really comes to a head. There, Wayne offered some kid a college scholarship. Here, Luthor offers Allen adoption and what-not. And there are some absurdities that illustrate just how weird the idea is. Allen's parents, both of them, are still alive; Allen himself is eighteen and so legally an adult. And so on. It was the best kind of seduction story I could think of: you're tired of your life, Allen, and your first world problems? Come live with the world's smartest man and get everything you ever want. Think Bart Simpson living with Mr Burns.

6. The bit about Lex telling Allen a bedtime story comes from the third Indiana Jones film. Other parts about Lex being fatherly comes straight form the 2002 version of _Spider-Man_, with Willem Dafoe as the Green Goblin.

7. Allen thinking Lex needs him. He does. Only, as we've seen, not anywhere close to the way Allen thinks he does.

8. At the time I liked the usage of the word pandemonium. Now, not so much; the comparison to Milton's city at the center of Hell works kind of. Really I should've just used the word Hell.

9. Another regret: Allen diluting the final conversation down to Manichean whatnottery. Reality, which we tried our damndest to convey here, even if it was the DCU, is better than either/or. A lame defence might be: Allen limiting himself to absolutism. Maybe to protect his sanity?

10. The final verdict, too. Allen sides with people who don't give a shit but to whom he does owe his existence. The verdict might've worked better if I'd made his parents more of a presence, but I like their un-presence too. Says more about them as pieces of the universe they live in, I think. So Allen's choosing of them over Luthor, to whom he owes some newfound self-esteem and notoriety (at the cost of his personal relationships, among other things) is meant to be a weak choice. After all, who could compete with Lex Luthor?

11. Luthor deals a not so subtle threat, telling Allen he'll be asking him some questions. This was twofold. One, a nod to Lex Luthor: The Unauthorised Biography. Two, an attempt at a sequel hook, which would cover Lex's parnaoia about Allen's relationship with Superman-his torture of Allen and eventual murder, which would end in Superman and Lex starting a war with each other over it. Superman's last straw and Luthor's response to that. Pulling out all the stops. An end to the Age of Superheroes. Maybe their last war. But it was a little too ambitious, so we pared down the sequel to one about Luthor corrupting Allen's social circle. Someday when I work up the time and courage to re-do the sequel-and I will-it'll better reflect this new manifesto. And give me a way to close down this version of the DCU. With Superman and Luthor, maybe naturally, as the last pillars to go down.

I think that could be a pretty good story. Maybe a little bit like _Kingdom Come_, only without all the superheroes and painted art. Just Superman and Luthor and a lot of collateral damage...

* * *

_**The End.**_


End file.
